Power of the Dragon
by PipPipCheerio0205
Summary: There were only stories about the five Great Earth Dragons and their amazing powers. For the prophecy of their legacies speak of a group of humans who will possess their powers every one thousand years. AU-ish
1. Ice

**Astrid's Power Ice**

**Enter: Elsa**

Awakening to the chilly sound of an open window, feeling the breeze of night touch her skin, Elsa arose from her bed. She rubbed at her eyes and yawned, hearing from across the room her younger sister Anna's loud snoring underneath a bedtime mess of red hair.

She didn't know exactly what had awaken her, but Elsa felt that trying to go back to sleep would be pointless. Slipping on her blue slippers and sliding out of bed, Elsa took a fragile walk to the open window gusting with the fresh night air and admired the marvel of the full moon that night.

Her little nine year old body - alive and full of newly energy - swayed with the soft wind, and her pink mouth curved into a brightly lit smile like the fire that roasted in the corner. "The winds are calling to me," she whispered to herself, admiring the stars that flooded the dark sky. "How I wish I could go with them." She stood there a moment more when another little voice came from the once sleeping Anna.

"Elsa what are you doing up so late?" The little five year old yawned hardier than an old man and removed her tiny self from the pink covers; and came to her older sister who was watching with sincere eyes the night sky. Anna shivered after feeling a stronger gust fill her tiny lungs. "Brr . . . Elsa can you please close the window? It's freezing!"

Elsa did as her sibling had asked, unlatching the lock and sliding the window down. The room went silent as the air was cut off, and Elsa turned to her little sister, smiling, "Do you want to build a snowman?" It wasn't much of a question, and she pretty much knew the answer.

"Yeah! Let's go!" Anna didn't waste any time as she suddenly took a firm hold onto Elsa's arm, leading her out of their room and down into the dining hall where not even a single mouse stirred in the peak of midnight.

"Okay, Anna," Elsa began, making a swerved hand gesture as little bits of ice started to form, "stand back."

Anna was giggling from the excitement, her plump cheeks rosy with joy; and she watched as Elsa turned the once bland dining hall into a sleek winter wonderland of marvelous proportions. Ice tapestries lined themselves in perfect splendor upon the wooden walls, the flooring solid white with freezing icicles dripping from the roof. Anna's nose would had nearly chipped off if it wasn't for the boiling radiance her such puny body possessed, oohing and awing at the show Elsa was creating with her fantastic powers. "Wow, Elsa!" she shouted, adoring every aspect of the much grand beauty and eloquence of the dining hall that had formed from only a nine year old girl.

"You like it, huh?" Elsa giggled.

Anna's eyes sparkled with a glimmer of enthusiasm. "Like it? I love it!" An elated soul took control of the young princess' feet, and Anna began to glide along the icy flooring, running around madly: laughing, soaking in the wondrous atmosphere.

Meanwhile, Elsa had already began her creation of the perfect snowman. The body, the head, all she needed was the accessories; finding smoothed stones for the buttons and eyes, Elsa called Anna over. "Anna! Wanna help me build this thing!"

Anna immediately stopped in her tracks, spinning on her heels and nearly sprinting while skipping each step. "I want to put on the eyes!" Already had she grabbed two of the stones, and Elsa didn't argue.

"Okay, but we still need to find the perfect nose and arms," Elsa pointed out, and Anna had already finished attaching the snowman's eyes.

"Do you want a carrot nose?" she asked, and began searching around for the final pieces of this snowman puzzle.

Elsa thought about the question, looking at the snowman's perfectly shaped face, knowing that only the best would do. "Of course! Olaf deserves the best!" Elsa smiled and hugged the snowman. Olaf was an adorable name.

When Anna returned from her scavenging, she carried between her arms the most orange carrot and the nicest sticks she could find, bringing them all to her patiently waiting sister. "Here we go," she said, handing Elsa the carrot.

The ice princess studied the vegetable, feeling the slightly bumpy texture. Anna had thought that maybe it wasn't good enough, but then Elsa winked. "It's perfect!" Her petite little hands guided the carrot right under the snowman's beady eyes, straightening it up. She studied it hard, understanding every feature as if a famous artist, and this was her latest sculpture.

The sticks that Anna had chosen fitted entirely with what Elsa presumed to be the world's greatest snowman. "Olaf is his name!" Elsa proclaimed. "And he is the most powerful snowman ever!" She gazed at her little sister standing with a smirk upon her face. "What do you think, Anna?"

"I dunno if Olaf sounds good. I kinda like Eli," Anna answered with perfect honesty.

"What!" Elsa was offended, and she ran to the non-moving frozen pile of snow and stones, shielding it away as if from her sister's evil stare to which she dared say his name should be Eli. "He's not a girl! His name's Olaf, and he likes warm hugs and other stuff too."

Even being four years younger, Anna still saw the childish behavior Elsa was displaying, and she rolled her eyes. "Whatever, Elsa, but I still think its name ought to be Eli. It's so much prettier than nasty old Olaf!"

Elsa mocked, "Ha, says you!" Then she took a strong hold of her snowy creation, whispering to it as if it could hear. "Don't worry, Olaf. I won't let Anna do anything like that to you. I know you like your name, and it's gonna stay that way."

"Anna? Elsa?" They heard a sudden masculine voice as the dining hall's doors had been opened. And in stepped the one man who ruled over the entire kingdom of Arrendelle, the mighty King. Dressed in his royal sleepwear of matching stripped pajamas.

It greatly frightened both girls, and they jumped up and held their heads high, noses to the roof. The King looked around and was absolutely blown away by how much the dining hall had changed in a single night. He knew exactly what happened, and he didn't like it; and when he approached his two daughters, he saw a look of regret come from Elsa. "Anna go back to your room and go to bed. I need to have a word with your sister." Looking sternly he was at Elsa, and she shied away with a pout.

Anna didn't dare argue, taking off like the speed of light, "Yes, sir!" and she was gone within moments.

Elsa was preparing herself for the fit she expected her father to throw, but instead he only sighed a breath of disappointment, saying, "Elsa, my dear, what are we going to do with you? I've told you several times not to be using your powers unless supervised by me or the Queen."

She tried to hold it in – really she did – but the young princess couldn't help but to cry. "I'm sorry, daddy! Please don't be mad at me."

The King took an affectionate kneel, his features softening to the same level as his daughter. "Oh Elsa, don't cry. I'm not mad at you, but you need to understand that your powers can be dangerous. And I know you would never want to hurt anyone."

Her eyes still wet, her nose sniffling, Elsa shook her head. "Never. I wouldn't want to hurt anyone."

The King smiled knowing what the little girl said was true, and he snatched her up in a hug. "I know. I know."

The security and warmth she felt in her father's embrace was enough to cease her cold tears; and she had just noticed the funny pajamas her father was wearing. "Did Kai mess up your wardrobe again, daddy?" Her cheeks were still a little bit soggy, but her uplifting laughter was enough to make even the King himself chuckle.

"What? Is something wrong with it? All the cool Kings are wearing them," he teased, letting go of his daughter.

"Oh daddy, you're so weird!" Elsa couldn't control her cute little giggles; and the King was so glad to see her happy; but then she remembered Olaf the snowman. "Look at what me and Anna made!" She led her father by the hand to the creation.

The thing was totally repulsive, looking like squished roadkill with a butter face and a fat nose with tiny little twigs sticking out of it; but yet it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. His daughter's innocence was what made him cast the longest and hardest tear he had ever tried to hold. "It's perfect, Elsa. One of a kind art. Why, it should be on the world's display for everyone to see."

Elsa was bloated with joy. "Really?" she nearly squealed.

The King didn't say anything, and it almost made her want to explode because of his silence; but then, "Why, yes. It's absolutely stunning, but you know what would be more stunning?"

Her ears perked up, and she turned quickly to face her father. "What?" she asked.

"If somehow I could get you to go back to bed." He grinned, but Elsa wasn't so pleased about that obvious claim he was trying to make.

"But why? I can't go to sleep right now! I'm not tired!"

"What do you mean you're not tired?" the King asked. "Nobody in their right mind would be up at this hour, Elsa." He examined with a goofy look at the little complaining princess. "You're not crazy are you? We already have the Queen for that."

"What? I'm not crazy! It's you who's crazy, daddy!" Her little nose was flaring, and she stomped on the man's feet.

"Hey now, what was that for?" It didn't hurt him at all, but the King found it more adorable than anything else. Elsa had always been easily aggravated, and nothing was more satisfying than pushing her buttons.

"For calling me crazy!" Elsa couldn't believe him. How dare he stand there and act like he's innocent! The big bully.

"Well . . ." he took a moments pause, " . . . are you?"

"No, I am not!" Elsa continued to persist, having her face darken to no longer pale, but red.

The King only smiled wider. "How do I know you're not? Show me proof."

His comments nearly sent Elsa into a spiraling nine year old tantrum. "I don't need to show you proof! You're the one who's crazy! Not me!"

"I think someone's just a little sleepy." The King nearly lost himself to his own comment, biting back all his laughter.

"I'm not a three year old! I know when I'm sleepy or not! Just-" she couldn't handle it anymore! Elsa shoved past her father, stomping her feet loud against the frozen floor.

"Where are you going, young lady? I'm not done with you yet!" he called to her, but she didn't even glance back. Her intolerable stomping kept her from doing so.

"I'm going to bed! I can't take this anymore!" She slammed the dining hall's door shut, and the King could still hear her mumbling outside as she went up the stairs back to her bedroom.

When all was still and quite, he took a seat at one of the dining table's chairs, folding his arms around his chest as he scoped out all the ice that Elsa had created for Anna's and her's little play date. It wasn't too much. Just mostly upon the ground, but that wouldn't be hard to scrape off, and there were only a few icicles hanging from the ceiling, and they'd probably just melt away. It wasn't as bad as it could've been, and he was thankful for that.

He didn't really know why he was just sitting there, but he didn't really feel like going to bed. Must had been how Elsa felt, but she'd probably be asleep before she even knew it.

But no man has the endurance of sitting in a single place for such, and it wasn't long since he finally retired back into his nice bed beside his wife, thinking all the time as to reassure himself that indeed, _these pajamas are cool._

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

As the moisture dripped from the mouth of a dark cave inside a barren tundra of a freezing mountain, there could be heard the laughter of a croaking witch. "Ha! That girl is just like you, Astrid! And might I say, a perfect match!"

The well known and well feared Ice Dragon who inherited the honorable name of Astrid disagreed with his companion. Striding with long strokes along the cave's damp throat, his scaly, blue tail shined like minerals in the dark. Growling at such a remark, the powerful dragon roared, "Quiet you bite sized little witch! Have you forgotten who you speak to?" Astrid stood upon his massive back claws, upholding the size of a mini tower, his strong wings spreading like an eagle, and his long roughed up neck pearly like the moon.

The ugly witch whose face was less pleasant than a rat's cackled on her broom stick, flying up to the dragon's head, staring into his soulless black eyes, and said, "You? Never in a million years would I forget about you! You're the one whose legacy resides in that of a little girl!"

Astrid was furious, roaring even louder and swatting at the pest beside his ear. "Damn the Leviathan and all those second rates who dare say we should allow people to share our powers!" Like a massive building, Astrid slammed himself back down upon all fours, causing the entire cave to rattle. He roared the loudest that has ever been heard to where even the snow outside shivered, and icicles fell from hundreds of surrounding trees.

The witch watched his tantrum from a safer distance, laughing her black lungs out until she began to cough. "Don't be such a little baby! So what if it's a girl? Girls taste the best in cakes and pies!" Her crude joke could not make Astrid even slightly laugh, and in fact it back fired.

"You disgusting vermin! Dragons do not eat people unlike yourself! We are more modest and self respecting creatures!" Astrid was breathing heavily from all his shouting and roaring, and the mockery from such a hideous woman wasn't helping.

"Modest? Don't be so thick you silly dragon! You're the one who's crying over a girl being picked as your successor in the human world!"

"How dare you talk such filth to me!" Astrid didn't care how much his throat hurt, he would not allow anyone to talk to him in such a way. "I brought you here when nobody else wanted your ugly self! Without me, you would had surely died out there in the snow, and now when I dare be upset over a weak girl controlling my powers, you dare say I'm not modest!" With all his might, Astrid attacked the cave's sharp wall with his tail, slicing the dark blood right out. "Gah!" The stinging was greatly painful, and he hissed with a snake-like tongue; and his black eyes burned with anger and resentment, but he stayed quiet as to attend to his wound.

"For a great mighty being, you sure act like a lil' pup," the witch mumbled to herself, smirking all the while; but then spoke up to say, "See what happens when you throw your temper tantrums? I thought you'd learned your lesson by now!"

Astrid lost all his temptation to argue, sighing as he laid down upon his massive rock within the center; the Earth nearly crumbling with him. "What am I to do, Edith? Surely, a girl can not be of use to me nor to anyone."

Edith zoomed down on her broom beside the resting creature, dismounting from her bizarre mount and sat upon the beast's back. "Just give the girl time. Maybe she will prove us all wrong, and when she's ready we will summon her here."

Gently, Astrid breathed with hope, closing his eyes slowly, speaking in a low tone, "Very well. Time will only tell if this _girl _will at all be useful." The Ice Dragon now calmed and taking the time to breath properly, fell into a deep trance of an unawakable slumber until the next morning.


	2. Fire

**Asgard's Power Fire**

**Enter: Daniel**

The eloquence and beauty that the burning sun of the new morn' bled warmth between the wisps of richly pink clouds and the world below. A fuzzy shadow hovered above the atmosphere, soaring with grace above the sky's cotton balls. The figure was of the mighty creature known as the Great Fire Dragon Asgard.

Unlike his less impressive rival (or so the mighty beast thought) Astrid, Asgard held himself as the most pristine of all the dragons, possessing the power of fire: the most honored and sacred tradition of all of them. Serving to what he believed was his rightful place to oversee their responsibilities as the protectors of all the lands from Arrendelle to his own Southern Isles. Not to say he thought himself more important than the others, but he was the only dragon who fully understood the human world aside from Elder Chamchichi himself, knowing that the great master was much more powerful than he, but the great age of ten thousand had began to wrap its murky hands around the Elder and father of all Asgard's younger brothers: Astrid, Ballad, Goliath. It was only a matter of time before the Elder was put to rest, leaving Asgard as the new leader of the Earth Dragons. And one of the very firsts on his agenda was for them to return from their centuries of hiding and soar upon the world once again.

His wings were alive as the wind flowed all the way down to the pointy spines upon his back, and the muscles in his neck slithered like a fat serpent between the puffy clouds of marvelous color and moisture. Asgard loved the fragrance of day, adored the warmth of the sun against his scales.

But he had not been in solitude for he was not the only dragon flying in the same skies that day. One of the most major differences that kept him from seeing his brothers, was that the Great, Mighty Asgard had risen a family.

"Father," his son had spoken to him, flying securely under Asgard's wing while another was straggling behind like a lost pup; and Asgard immediately noticed this.

"Dimitri," the ancient dragon spoke the name of his son, "go and help your brother."

"But dad!" Dimitri groaned at the request, not even looking back to see his sibling about to pass out from the long flight. "I can't help it if Demacus is slow!"

Not a single word left Asgard, but his tough expression was all the needed convincing for his son not to chance questioning him again.

Dimitri didn't like this at all, pouting and grumbling, "Yes, sir." Halting his flight, the dragon turned around to go and aid his struggling brother.

Demacus was a poorly plump dragon and was not nearly the brightest reptile past The Southern Isles; but he always admired the great dragon his father had been, wishing upon empty stars that he too could rise above and show all those who doubted him that he was a real dragon. Sadly, that's easier said than done. He always felt that he was the bad egg of the family – his older brother so skilled and talented – and he had assured himself plenty of nights that his father liked Dimitri better. And his insecurities truly revealed themselves when the older brother dragon came with a bitter jaw and eyes. "Dimitri," Demacus tried to begin, but choked on his own panting; his mouth was so dry from the exercise. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be up there with father?" He wished not to hold anyone back, especially his brother.

But Dimitri did not take kindly to sympathy. Talking to him like a burden and a useless pest, "I should, but he wants me back here with you because you can't even fly properly."

Man, oh man. What he'd give to just take a big chunk out of his older brother's tail this very moment, but father would most certainly not like that. "Thank you." That's really all Demacus could come to say, otherwise he might've really bit his brother.

Not even the beauty of the blossoming sky could shield the distaste in Dimitri's mouth as he took glide beside Demacus, following the cloud trails of their father.

The sun had only reached a sliver of its peak in the glowing horizon, glittering upon the richness of the clear streams, when Asgard took land unto a delicate field of soft dirt that grew the purplest flowers, and the scent of honey pollination rising with the delicate breeze; being followed by a sound of bickering little dragons as they arrived into their father's sight.

And when Demacus finally touched stone with the pleasant grass field, he began to wheeze wildly for as much air he could bring in; but was interrupted by Dimitri's snooty laughter. "You stuffed pig! Oink! Oink! Oink!"

"Dimitri!" Asgard thundered, followed by an even louder echo. He saw how the insults had really taken a harsh pull on Demacus with him nearly crying; and he would not allow that in any way. The massive dragon brought down his muscular leg, nearly cracking the Earth in two. Dimitri didn't even have time to gasp when Asgard roared, "Don't you ever say that about your brother again! Do you understand me, child!"

Dimitri's voice must had been hiding because he could not find it anywhere. His face feeling hot, trembling to the power his father's voice possessed. It was frighting beyond all words.

And this made Asgard even angrier, not appreciating the disrespectful silence. "Do you understand!" this time he yelled to where his voice nearly cracked.

Shakily, and blurting the answer out as best he could and as quickly as he could, "Yes, sir!"

"Good," the father had said satisfied, and he winked one eye to Demacus who no longer felt saddened about the cruel jokes. His father had flushed all the sadness right out of him, taking it over with the new emotion of fear.

And in the young dragon's mind, he was thinking, _'Thank you, father.' _And they then began their journey home, and Demacus kept a much closer distance at his father's side with an ever little present smirk folding over his sharp teeth.

The same happiness, however, could not be said for the older Dimitri who kept a walking's pace under his father's wing; and couldn't fight his own temptation to feel resentment towards his younger. A question stuffing the space in his mind: Why did his father care so much about Demacus and not him? No matter how many trials and tribulations he went through to impress Asgard, he always appeared to lean more appreciative and proud of Demacus. It wasn't fair; it just wasn't; and Dimitri scowled at the thoughts, keeping them bottled up all the way till' arriving home on top the highest hill upon a gorge, to where a man could almost touch heaven.

And it was here where Asgard embraced the the breeze that so gently tapped his skin as the ancient surveyed the land beneath him at the tip of the very hill. Beautiful.

"Asgard are you hungry?" Heard the voice of his wife Hilda ask from behind him as she came up the hill, seeing her husband standing and admiring the view of the gorge.

Asgard sighed heavily as if saying goodbye to the drawing sun. "I'm getting too old to be dealing with these children."

She was confused to what he meant. "What do you mean? Did something happen today?"

He couldn't find his voice, thinking, overlooking the world still. "I suppose I'm just being a little whiny," he laughed and added, "I'm sounding like Astrid if you can believe it; but I do indeed miss the times when we were allowed to fly and be free from all the persecution that the humans have come to accept over the years." His eyes closing and casting out the sun's light, he reminisced about his younger days with his brothers with all the innocence that carried them those seven thousand years ago. And now it all seemed to have never existed, like it was all a part of his shattered imagination.

The heartache grew strong within her husband, and Hilda came beside him with an offer of love, cuddling against his neck. "Come now love, surely it's not all bad. You have me and your sons who adore you with all their hearts. I'm begging you please, don't be upset."

The soothing sound of the woman he's ever truly loved could mend only a piece of him, but the greater pain still lived on and might never cease to exist; and they stood with one another only a moment for when Asgard finally said this: "My dearest heart only feels that there could be much more to our lives instead of just existing like we are now. Do you forget of the times we used to be connected with the humans before they turned against us, banning our kind from their lands; and now we must hide to avoid being spotted?"

She couldn't remember a more promising time when the humans weren't so frightened, when they were willing to accept those that they knew not about. "Of course I do, but that time no longer exists now. We mustn't dwell on the past anymore, understand what I'm saying. We are no longer welcomed to their societies, and we know better than to fight against that. Remember, this is why you and all your brothers – and even father – were to share their powers. So, maybe if the time comes that trouble befalls humanity, they might have that chance to live. Never forget who we are, Asgard. We are the protectors of our lands, but if our lands go against us, we must step down and let a new era rise from where we fell."

There wasn't any denying what she said was all the more true, and Asgard felt ashamed. "We've only shared our powers with one human, and already I am feeling weaker. I'm no longer the dragon I was."

"Maybe not," Hilda said, beginning down the hill; but glanced back to see the once Mighty Asgard standing broken, and said, "You're better."

Those two simple words nearly engaged the soul he thought he had so long ago lost amongst the bitter winds of change. Only faintly did he smile, and said to himself as he felt a calling from the gorge's beauty, "That I am." Leaving only his large footprints of where he once stood, following the smell of fish and the laughter of his children; and what he saw almost blinded him with excitement.

A man by the name of Daniel that Asgard hadn't seen in five years stood before him this very day with more aged features of a thirty seven year old man, wearing an adventurers' outfit of torn bull hide and leather. Even though his face had changed and his pleasant expressions had dropped with time, he still carried the same charisma as if a young man.

Asgard was near hysterical, laughing harder than he had in a long time. "Do my eyes dare deceive an old dragon as myself? Or is the one and only Sir Daniel of not very nice men standing before me now?" He came to the man, studying him. Eyes were still as blue as Asgard had remembered, and not a single hair touched the man's bald head; and the Great Dragon knew this was the same man he had known.

With Dimitri and Demacus hording their bellies with salmon, and their mother constantly telling them to mind their manners around guests, Daniel and Asgard embraced another after such a long departure. "Surely, this cannot be the same Asgard I know. After all – much too old," Daniel said with joyous glee, knowing well and good Asgard hated him talking about his age.

But today he didn't care, seeing a friend such as this was something special. "It is I," said Asgard. "How have my powers been treating you? Good I hope!"

"Good they have quite indeed!" Daniel replied with a grin. The man hadn't changed a bit since the first summon by Asgard to train him under the wisdom of the fire. "And what about you old friend? Been on any exciting new adventures?"

Adventuring was only for the young, and Asgard had dedicated enough time to that; but looking at his sons who ate like pigs, he found himself slightly remembering. "Nothing too grand I'm afraid – too old for that kind of stuff – but I've been living my quiet life very content; and I'd never want to change it."

Hilda smiled to her husband's words, and it was Daniel who said to her, "So, how's the Miss doing? Good I presume?"

"Very fine I am, Daniel. I hope you have come in good company?" It was a question attended in hoping that he and Asgard could talk of friendly things.

Daniel acted surprised, but he never lost that glimmer of charisma in his eyes. "Of course I've only come in good company! Why else would I be here? I thought that seeing some old friends would be nice. Don't you agree, Asgard?"

"I do have to say," the Fire Dragon began his answer, "it is a nice surprise to see you again. Come, let's go talk in private. There is much catching up to do." Asgard left his wife with a kiss and started his trail back up the hill.

"Miss," Daniel hadn't forgotten to courtesy Hilda, and he followed swiftly after his once mentor who had seem to have grown even wiser since he had last known him.

They talked to one another for hours, sitting upon a perfectly shaped stone rock until the moon headed its wonderful magic over the gorge, having brought with it not only stars, but a nasty chill.

Thankfully though, Daniel had prepared for the colder weather, and he had brought with him furs to keep his body healthily warm as the two old friends recalled times under the stars.

They talked about women, and how Daniel was to be married to a Danish girl named Karin; and Asgard congratulated him: "She must really love you or she's part troll herself." The joyful dragon would laugh and joke about common things, and Daniel would go right along with it, enjoying every moment.

But as the moon raised higher, and the dark grew colder, their conversations had grown more personal. Daniel had began to weep when he had spoken of his father's death that occurred last year due to his overly worked old body; and Asgard, with the compassion of a guardian, rested a single claw upon the crying man's shoulder, saying, "Know that no matter what – even if you feel that the world has turned against you – I will always be here for you. You're a strong man Daniel, and you bear a piece of my heart within you. And when fear tries to control you, remember that I am never far. Just look inside yourself and know we are one, and you are my brother."

Daniel adhered to his friend's loving words and placed his shaking hand upon his chest, feeling his beating heart that reminded him of for he was: the one who guarded the eternal fire within him. And he was unable to control himself, leaping forwards onto Asgard and hugging the neck of his _brother._ "And you should know as well, Asgard," he began to say, "that no matter how times may change, and no matter how many may fear you and your kind, I know that what lives in you is not a monster, but a living soul beating just like my heart; and I thank you." Daniel let go of his dearest friend and stood for a shy moment, reading the compassion the dragon's black eyes held, and then sitting down once more.

And with the silent night there to guide them in any direction, they had found other topics to discuss; but now their bond seemed forever more stronger.

"Have you heard word from Astrid recently?" Daniel asked, long over his tears.

"Not a single word from him," Asgard said. "Haven't seen any of my brothers, actually. The last one I had spoken to was Ballad, and you know how he is – always doing something foolish."

"How could I forget him? He nearly got me killed with all his nonsense. One of these days he's going to hurt himself; and I know for a fact dragons aren't invincible."

Asgard couldn't agree more. "Ballad has always been the wildest out of all of us – guess that just comes with being the youngest. Teaching a human how to use wind should do him well; but only if he doesn't accidentally kill the poor soul first."

"While we're talking about this," Daniel had begun saying, changing the subject, "I heard from Joshua that Astrid was the one who received a girl as his chosen Heart. How's he taken that I wonder, can't help but feel sorry for him."

Asgard did indeed pity his younger brother about such a problem as a girl. "Like I've said, I haven't really spoken to him; but it is a very upsetting thing that is. Women are not made for this roll, but we will see how it goes. Surely, as powerful as Astrid is he shouldn't have too much of a difficult time teaching the girl about our ways."

"That's until he realizes how hard-headed some women are," Daniel retorted, and they both laughed.

When everything that could be talked about had been exhausted beyond belief, Daniel said a farewell to his old friend and set off before dawn could sneak up on him.

Asgard stood watching the man disappear into the night. Today had been a good day, and he found his family all snuggled and warm against a crackling fire; and after fueling the flames with his own breath, Asgard yawned a dragon's yawn and laid beside his resting Hilda, wishing for only a safe journey for Daniel. And when the Might's eyes closed, he knew his friend would be fine because he breathed and lived within Asgard's very heart.

The Dragon's Heart.


	3. Wind and Shadow Part 1

**Goliath's Power Shadow**

**Ballad's Power Wind**

_**Part 1**_

**Enter: Joshua and Isiah**

With the sweet buzz of spring air crisp and clean, days bringing this much serenity and charming scents of the clovers in the growing fields were difficult to come by inside the secluded town commonly known as Stonegate. The name wasn't just a formality either, surrounding the village was a great stone wall that could block even a thousand men, keeping the citizens safe and secure as the guardsmen patrolled the walls every day and every night, looking upon the massive ocean of soothing waves and the smell of salt water at the docks.

It was a tradition – for it was so this very morning as well – for every peoples to participate in preserving the order and stabled income. The many squares of the constantly working Stonegate were lined with bakeries bringing the delicious delights of hot muffins and breadings from Baton to Callah (khale), and the markets grew fat with the clots of many men, women, and children.

This very morn' was pure, and the sunny breeze that sailed ships along the beautiful pacific carried the reticent whistles of the beaming wind between the pine tree forests and past the brown rocks of the dirt roads.

It was a peaceful time for sure, however, peace never lasts as the shouts and hollers of young boys echoed between the mossy walls of a stoned alleyway tucked between the village's markets.

"Fight!" some would scream. "Kick his ass!" would be the others, but the cheering and hooting never ceased, and either people passed by without a glance or they joined in to watch; but more times than not would never stay.

There were no less than ten boys holding up inside that alley – all honoring above the ages just barely over sixteen – and every single one was hungry for a good slugging, whether they be hitting one another or just shouting like young fools; but they never penetrated into the circle that occupied the true fight that had begun all of this chaos.

For within the circle of many a shouting and punches and other foolish things, two boys resided badly beaten and battered, and to each their own names were Isiah and the much larger fellow whose name was Talon.

Blood stained the stone ground, and more so the red liquid dripped from Isiah's dirt covered mouth with the blend of disgusting globs of thick drool, hacking up nasty coughs and gurgles from the back of his throbbing throat; his torn clothes submerged in stinking green mud, and he laid there upon his busted knees and callused palms that shook. His vision hurting, and his one eye swelled beyond brim, he looked to the towering Talon who glared down upon him like a helpless child.

"Get up, bastard!" the merciless boy demanded, chuckling to the sound of Isiah's wheezing breaths; and became furious when the battered boy said nothing and was only to wipe away a chunk of blood above his upper lip.

"Go to hell!" Isiah spat at the boys boots, feeling the tingling aches of his teeth and jaw; but lost the fight with the crowd and himself when Talon directed an unyielding boot into his already hurting side, jamming a few ribs into his stomach. Only a sly groan of unproportional agony escaped from his mouth as he fell onto his face and hit his forehead, soaking the mud around his closed eyelids.

This action caused a great stir within the group of boys; they all began roaring with excitement, mocking and spitting upon the fallen Isiah; and bestowed Talon as they stated a proclamation as him being a kind of saint, having some pat his shoulder and congratulate him for nailing Isiah in his place.

How powerless Isiah had felt as he lied there in his own bodily fluids and mud that embarrassed him so, possessing not a tread of hope within him. He had to listen and embrace all their scornful words and gestures, and he could not do a thing. And hearing the encouragement, "He deserves another blow! Knock his teeth out!" that came from the starving crowd, Isiah clenched his knuckles till' they popped and fleshed out into white tightness and braced himself for the impact.

Talon condoned pleasurably to the crowd's overwhelming demands, bringing his boot up to stomp upon Isiah's head; but before even the slightest connection, the fist of a much, much bigger man collided with the face of an unsuspecting boy, and the crowd gasped as Talon collapsed instantly into a swollen puddle and was not to get back up.

The entire crowd of boys just stood frightened, looking into the black eyes of one of the largest and meanest men they had ever seen; and the figure snarled at them, shouting, "Get out of here! All of you!" His expression kept coldness and what looked to be hatred and spite for a beating such as this, looking down upon Isiah and squatting beside him, gently placing a hand upon the boy's back.

Like a pack of scared deer, the entire crowd scrambled away, but left one astray; and with a glare from the big man, the lost boy took off after them. After all, there was protection in numbers; but numbers might not matter to a man such as that.

When the pack had dispersed, the man helped pry Isiah to his feet; but couldn't keep him from stumbling a few times. "Isiah what happened?" he asked, carefully examining his brother.

The features of black hair, and the soul that was held within even blacker eyes; and the build that held this man up was almost non-human, standing nearly twice his size. "Joshua," Isiah spoke weakly, spitting out moist blood. "Why are you here?"

Flexing his eyes with fury, he brought his glare to the fallen Talon, saying, "I heard the commotion. Luckily, I arrived just in time." He wrapped his younger brother's arm around his shoulder, making sure he was stable. "Let's get home now. You need to rest."

Isiah could only creak a little smile before feeling a sharp sting along his bottom lip. It almost seemed impossible to walk even a step without his lungs going into some sort of rapture, and the pain of breathing almost kept him from going with Joshua; but he stayed controlled and managed a limping pace out of the alleyway and back onto the streets.

Joshua remained firm with his brother, paying little mind to the odd looks of the people who passed them, caring not of their crude whispers as they walked their journey home. Normally, Isiah would find a day as splendid as this to be a miracle of nature, however, the blood clots and sore ribs did their best to keep him from enjoying it.

Remembering the fight and how much of a wimp he must've seemed like, Isiah cringed; he knew that if it wasn't for Joshua, that he would still be laying there till' death in that alleyway; but it would never change the fact of him being some defenseless boy who couldn't fend for himself.

And it was this thinking that led him to ask, "Joshua you don't think I'm weak do you?" He tried to look upon his brother's stern face, but the sun's stream burned his swelled eye; and he touched the lump ever so softly, feeling the pulsating throbs.

Joshua had never seen his brother as weak, and he sighed, speaking with a tone a few octaves lower than most normal men, "I've told you before, and I'll tell you again, being able to beat someone up does not make you strong. Real strength is not so easily persuaded to just a few pointless fights; it comes from within you."

Isiah stifled a faint laugh, annoying his sibling greatly when he said, "Always like you to preach to me, isn't it? Well, rest assured I'm very aware of _real strength._" Even in pain he still found ways to tease. "No wonder I was mamma's favorite."

"Favorite?" Joshua took this as his turn to laugh in all friendly goodness, but he did so with more power – from his diaphragm he laughed – "You was her biggest problem! She was lucky she had me, otherwise you'd surely have driven her mad!"

"Whatever you say. . ." Isiah didn't even have the strength to finish his sentence as his lungs began to raise hell for him with a strong burning sensation.

Joshua took notice, and said as he embraced his little sibling with a brotherly pat, "Don't stress yourself. Just one step at a time."

"Easy for you to say, tough guy," said Isiah, and they passed through the markets without too much trouble; and then began down a hill that had fresh daffodils blooming over splotches of dewy grass. A sweet smile filled his lips. "Remember when we use to pick daffodils for mama?"

That question caught Joshua off guard, raising his brows and turning his head to see his brother's filthy face, "I do. I also remember you would always pick the ones with the bees and get yourself stung." They both laughed at that.

"Those were the times weren't they?" Isiah's tone was turning more serious. "Do you miss her?"

Opening his mouth, but closed it slowly, Joshua thought about his answer more than what he would've like. "Everyday, Isiah. Ma was a good woman, but it was her time; and she accepted it."

"Yeah. . ." Why did he have to bring this topic up? Isiah never enjoyed thinking about his deceased mother. The woman who had raised them and took care of them completely by herself all the way to her death bed. She was not just a good woman Isiah decided, but a _great _woman. A woman who would forever and always be welcomed into his heart.

The mood had changed totally, and they spoke not a single word to another for the longest while it seemed. Both were reminiscing about the old times they used to spend as children, playing in the fields, creating mischief. How they longed for things to be like they were.

Eventually, the two brothers arrived to the farthest edge of the village, almost outside the stone wall, and stepped upon the raw sand of the beach which waves were in their yearly high tide, and flocks of noisy seagulls flew distinctly overhead while the smell of the blue water stuffed them.

"Still as beautiful as ever," Isiah said, and Joshua agreed with a nod.

"Come on, let's hurry home."

They didn't have to walk far when they came to an aging shack of mossy wood and windows stained with green smudge. It was then did they take refuge under its roof, opening the front door, and Joshua helping Isiah inside. There was little to absolutely nothing to brag about, having only two poorly beds and a wardrobe worse than a dog's; and tucked in the corner was a small kettle and unlit fireplace; but besides anything else, it was messy and kept only a few bland decorations.

And with his entire body feeling the urge to pass into shock at any moment, Isiah quickly laid down on his springy bed with the lumps and creaks not doing much to help him.

Joshua had only settled in with a knife and a piece of wood, cutting into the soft oak like a pro as he began to craft a perfect little wooden sculpture, when he heard his brother call to him.

"Put those things down for a second," he said, catching the big man's attention, "and hand me one of those cloths in the bowl there." Weakly, Isiah pointed across the room to a small dripping bowl of hot water upon the kitchen table.

He placed his sculpture down with all his passion, scraped off the thin slivers of wood on the table, and after rinsing out the cloth while keeping it plenty moist, Joshua brought it to his wounded brother; and then immediately went back to work with his tiny creations. Might it be added that it was quite a funny sight seeing such a huge man create such little dolls.

With every stroke of the damp cloth over the dry gashes across his face, Isiah would gripe with pain, and coming gingerly over his black eye, grunted, "Damn." And then moved on to rubbing away the crusty blood that was under his chin and stuck to his neck like tiny flakes.

From across the way, Joshua looked up from his work and laughed, "Stop being a baby. It's just a few scrapes."

"Says you . . . gah!" Taking a swipe under his nose, he felt the surging sting of his busted lips; and after, began running the cloth along his aching forehead, constantly seething and hissing to the pain. "You – damn – you ain't the one whose ribs are crushed." Exhausted, and quite cranky, Isiah allowed his wiping arm to go limp to the side of his bed, releasing the cloth onto the floor and laid there until his eyes began to close; and he was asleep within moments.


	4. Wind and Shadow Part 2

**Wind and Shadow**

_**Part 2**_

**Enter: Isiah and Joshua**

Isiah must've been asleep for hours. He felt the warmth of a flickering candle nudge the corner of his mouth as he opened his eyes to see a room of luminous orange and dark shadows that kissed the old roof above him. Not a single soul stirred. He looked around and saw no sign of Joshua; and Isiah strongly believed the man must had left for something. For what? He didn't know.

Not willing to stay another minute in bed, and with his curiosity getting the better of him, Isiah managed his way out from under his hot covers and cautiously stepped unto the splintered floor; and to his surprise, he found his body only to be slightly aching. However, his vision remained blurry with the agony of his black eye.

Walking slowly with one foot after another, Isiah saw that the little wooden figurines Joshua had been working on were finished. There they were: a miniature ox and ram sitting quietly with all their precise carvings upon the seasoned dressing table. Such effort put into the little crafts was astounding, and Isiah suited them above the fireplace beside the menacing snake, fat cows, and other wooden creatures. And as he did so, he heard the iron latch of the door slide open, and in stepped Joshua with two small bags tucked between his beefy arms.

"You're up," he said, and placed the bags onto the kitchen table. "Started to think you were going to sleep the whole night." Isiah approached him without a reply, and the big man placed a caring hand upon his brother's shoulder, "How are you feeling?"

"Better," said Isiah. Joshua began emptying out the bags, pulling out a dozen apples and some bread. Isiah watched him do so, but then a question came to mind: "How long was I asleep?" he asked.

Before answering, Joshua handed a sweet apple to him; and when Isiah bit into the juicy fruit, Joshua said, "Six hours, I'd say. How's your head?"

"A little bit sore," his brother replied truthfully, and stretched out a chair from under the table. He sat on it, enjoying his food. He had been starving all day. Peering out the distant window, Isiah saw that the sun was no longer hovering above the world. The stars had tucked it away, bringing with them the chill of night. His brother hadn't lied: he had really slept the entire day away. He was quite upset about that fact. Isiah sighed and rubbed his throbbing temples when he heard Joshua sit down 'cross from him.

Also munching on a ripe apple, the big man began speaking, "I've been thinking," he said between chomps, "why don't we have a little fun tonight? It'll just be me and you, drinking our weight in beer."

This was certainly unexpected, and Isiah whose question clung to a single brow looked at his brother. "A little fun? You and fun don't even belong in the same sentence, let alone me being your drinking buddy. What happened to you quitting?"

"Just a few drinks," Joshua persuaded, "and after what happened today. . ."

"Don't-" Isiah held a hand up, silencing his older brother, "remind me." The thoughts of that alleyway and Talon were the last things he wanted to be reminded of right then; but the brutal soreness in his ribs made that especially difficult. He continued, "And besides, all I ever see you do is play with those dolls."

Joshua didn't really feel inclined to be offended by such crude remarks. He knew Isiah thought his craftsmanship was impressive; but he had little time to answer when Isiah interrupted again: "However, I guess a few drinks could be nice." He finished the last bite of his apple and stood up from the table, tossing it into the can. "Give me ten minutes to get ready."

"Great! I knew you'd come around," said Joshua, getting to his feet as well. "I'll be waiting for you outside." He chucked his half eaten apple and was exited within moments.

Isiah knew he didn't have enough time to efficiently cleanse himself; however, a new set of wear was an absolute must while his old garments stunk with the tainted odor of dry mud and whatever other pieces of excrement. He quickly stripped out of the old attire.

It took only five minutes for him to be dress into a simple wool tunic with a pair of ragged breeches tucked firmly into old fashioned boots. After checking himself for the fiftieth time for anymore unwanted elements, Isiah took his first step into the breezy night. There, he saw Joshua standing at the tip of the ocean's mouth where the tides just barely grazed the man's feet.

"Don't you look like a Prince!" he teased, but Isiah waved him off.

"Let's just go," he said, and they journeyed into town.

Stonegate was never shy of visitors. It was a friendly village of nice people and a strong democracy, being one of the very few to not be ruled under a monarch; but living under such ideals had caused many problems with neighboring kingdoms. The Southern Isles was one of the better examples of this bullheadedness when their King had threatened of war in the past. However, through many debates and shouting matches in councils, Stonegate had reached agreements and treaties with most kingdoms.

All except one: the kingdom of Arrendelle.

It was said that the King and Queen of this Norwegian State were fully against any diplomatic relations with Stonegate, saying it was: "A land of barbarians and foolish people whose only sense of moral is getting drunk and having fun without responsibility. Arrendelle will have nothing to do with them." It was a surprise to have such harsh words spoken, but the citizens of Stonegate had pestered no more afterward, wishing to avoid any conflicts with one of the world's leading Superpowers.

However, this very night, as Joshua and Isiah walked amongst the gorgeously lit streets of high beat music and dancing fools, admiring the beauty of only some women, was a night of celebration and party. Maybe to some they would be seen as barbarians, but to the citizens of Stonegate, this was a very pleasant way of life.

The grand enjoyment of smelling baked goods and steamed sausage while watching the most beautiful women dance and get drunk brought a smile to Isiah's face. He kept a fair distance to his brother's side as they traversed through the lower sections of the festivities. Banners of bright yellow and purple adorned the shops that usually lined several people at their doors. The lanterns that glowed strong and proud upon poles throughout the streets kept every alley and crack lit perfectly.

To where their first stop was at a bar where the waitresses were pretty and its bartender knew how to serve liquid gold. The sign outside read: "The Best," and it proved itself true every single night. The brothers sat across each other at a polished table, listening to the chatter from drunken patrons. Every so often, a fight would kick off, but the stocky bartender whose muscles were near the size of Joshua's, and whose hair was a long, straw-like blond, had not fancied any problem with throwing the trouble out. "Don't you come back, now! Ay, ya'hear me?" he would shout, slamming the door back closed. He returned back behind the counter to wash dishes and serve more liquor.

The man's name was – or so everyone called him – Davy. He was a Scottish fellow whose father worked up in the inns downtown; and whose mother was an English gal, but she died while Davy was just a wee babe. No one knew the entire story. However, word was that she was an escaped convict – her crime was unknown – and that the warden had finally paid his dues to her: the gallows, hung the woman like a sack of tender meat; but those were just rumors. No one dared talk about it while Davy was around. His English speaking was quite good, considering his Scottish descent; but anyone could tell a few notable habits in his tongue when he spoke. He was a nice enough man, but when it came to his bar he was a smug little penny-pincher. He'd surely rob a man blind if the man wasn't careful.

It was a funny thing that Joshua had developed a strong relationship with the Scottish man. Before trying to quit alcohol, Joshua would often come and have merry drinks with the man after hours, help clean up, and talk about common things. They had been friends for some time.

A waitress came to them with their drinks, and Isiah arrogantly winked at her; but she only rolled her eyes. She slammed the drinks onto their table, and said, "Ay, no funny business." She glared at Joshua. "And keep your pig under control, hear me?" And she left with a subtle sway of her hips, mocking both men.

"Did you see that?" Isiah said with his brown eye, that hadn't been bruised, flared and blushing. Perplexed by such a gal, he watched as she went to serve another table. He took a strong sip of his drink, but couldn't pull his gaze from the girl.

Joshua chuckled. "Don't stare too long. I'm not helping you if she smacks you right across that grinning face of yours." His warning must've not clicked because Isiah was still staring like a fool. Abruptly, Joshua stood to his feet.

"Where are you going?" Isiah asked.

"I'm going to talk with Davy." Joshua turned stern for a moment. "Don't do anything while I'm gone. I don't feel like having to clean up one of your messes."

"Don't worry 'bout me," replied Isiah, "but I kinda can't help but worry about you. Watch your limit will you? I'm not carrying you out of here if you don't."

Joshua nodded, "Fair enough," and left his brother alone at their table as he squeezed between men and waitresses.

Davy had been standing tersely behind the counter, wiping smudged glasses with a soft cloth when he heard the voice of an old friend: "How's the bar holding up?" Joshua asked, taking a seat on a stool in front of the burly Scott.

Laying the cloth and glassware down, Davy smiled big and held out a firm hand. "Michty me! Joshua! Been a long time, kid! What's bringin' you here?"

He was glad to shake his friend's hand; and when Davy went back to cleaning, Joshua replied, "Came by to have a few drinks with Isiah."

"Isiah?" Davy pondered aloud. He spotted the badly bruised and scratched seventeen year old sitting alone at an empty table, filling his sorrows with whiskey. "Good lordy! Those're some beauty marks he's got there, ain't they? What happened to the lad?"

"Fight," Joshua told him. " I caught him and a few others held up in an alleyway – you know right next to Kari's Bakery?" Davy nodded; and Joshua continued, "He's lucky I got there when I did. You know Talon don't you? Harold's boy?"

Davy looked appalled by the mere mention. "That dunderhead Harold came by last night. Bought ten crowns worth, but that galoot went off without paying me a cent. If I see em' again, there's gonna be hell to pay!"

The man's face was turning cherry red, and Joshua tried his best to change the subject, hoping to calm his friend down before things got too out of hand. "Well, anyway-"

"So sorry 'bout that, lad," Davy interrupted with an apology, realizing his rudeness. His anger waning.

"No need," Joshua reassured, "can't say I blame you." He continued with his story: "I tell Isiah all the time not to be picking fights. The boy's got a screw loose or something in that skull of his; he never listens to a word I say."

"That's what all young men do," said Davy. "He'll grow out of it. And when he does, I'll let him work for me. Teach the boy some discipline. How's that sound?"

"Sounds too good to be true." Joshua smiled. "Are you sure you can handle him?"

"Havers!" proclaimed Davy, being real sincere. "If I can handle a fine establishment like this by myself, what says I can't handle the lad?"

The Scottish pride was an interesting thing indeed, and Joshua ceded to the man. Rubbing his temples and consulting his thoughts, he said, "I need a drink. Go heavy while you're at it." Within a second, a shot of cool whiskey slid directly in front of him. Joshua eyed his drink for an impressed moment and laughed. He looked at Davy and saw he was already back to cleaning. "You still got it!"

"Can't keep these old fingers down!" said the proud Scottish man.

He was a little hesitant about drinking the liquor, thinking of Isiah and what he had said about not going over his limit; but then a thought occurred to him: _'What could just one drink do?'_ With that thought, he swigged the alcohol without a second glance. He burped loudly and smiled. He had forgotten the strong taste that moistened his lips while it slimed down his throat, but it didn't stop him from ordering a second – _'What, a second couldn't hurt.' –_ Then he ordered even a third, and it wasn't long 'till he had drunk seven shots of pure liquor. By the time he had flushed down his last one, Joshua was completely out of it. He belched a wet one and tasted his own rancid breath.

Davy noticed such drunken behavior coming from his friend and stopped him, saying calmly, "I think you've had enough for tonight."

Joshua's eyes were absolutely bloodshot underneath his dark hair. "What did you say?" he asked slurred, looking around the bar like a lunatic. Seeing only blurred faces of other drunks, "Where's Isiah at?"

He felt a heavy hand grip his shoulder and heard Davy say, "He left. I think you need to too, lad. Go home and get some rest, no?"

Again, another chesty belch, and Joshua tried rising to his feet, but tripped, barely catching himself on his stool. His vision was cloudy, and he witnessed a loud ringing in both of his ears. Joshua couldn't hear a thing Davy was trying to say. "I need – need to go find him!"

"He left, Joshua!" Davy attempted a little louder, wishing that his friend would understand.

"Left?" Joshua heard and focused in on the fuzzy figure of his friend. "Why'd he leave, hmm? Did I do something wrong?"

Davy could see he was starting to get through and shook his head. "No, lad. You didn't do anything wrong. He was tired and – and you're very drunk. Go home lad, and get some rest, or I'll have to throw you out."

There was a pause with Joshua as he stood rocking side to side. His eyes were wild and looking down at his twiddling feet. "I'm sleepy."

"Then go home," Davy told him, and he began leading the man out of the bar. He wasn't annoyed with his friend in the least bit, but he didn't want to see him get into some sort of trouble. Outside, he asked him, "Do you remember where you live, lad?"

Joshua belched before answering, and even Davy got a whiff of the nauseous fumes. He managed to keep from puking as Joshua said, "Yeah, I do. On the beach. Me and Isiah live there."

The answer satisfied Davy, and he patted his friend on the back as he went back inside. "Hurry up then. Go home and rest, and don't get into trouble," he added. The door closed behind him, and Joshua was then left alone to voyage through the rowdy village.

Festival music still blared as loudly as ever for all willing ears; and it seemed that even more bodies were out dancing than before as the foods with delicious scents found their aromas filling the nostrils of people. It was terribly crowded: people rammed against Joshua's quavering body; and the big drunk found himself completely turned around.

Like a lost vessel, he sailed through the masses without any clue to where he was going. Bumping into people and tripping several times, Joshua really only had one thought on his mind: _'Where's my brother?' _

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

There the young Isiah sat silently upon the soothing beach's shore with its spirit living in the deep waves and breathing sea creatures; and after removing his boots, Isiah watched the crabs fumble around in the sand next to his naked toes. What an embracement he had for the rumbling tides and salty air around him, wondering beyond the horizon at the moon, counting the stars.

Now was not the time to think back to Joshua, who was probably drunken beyond belief, bumbling around the town like a fool; damn him and his word. He would never stop drinking. However, Isiah held not a single trace of contempt for his brother's addiction, believing that it was his way to cope with the times; or so he thought.

Leaving that aside, what really mattered to him now was the ocean and the amiable sounds of the pelicans flying overhead. This was a time for peace and quiet, and he sat with his arms wrapped around his bony knees, cherishing the subtle breeze that caressed along the tiny hairs of his neck. He made not a sound as he laid upon his back, shutting his eyes and breathing in the air slowly. With the sand so cool and pleasant to the skin, Isiah fell asleep.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Within the grasp of large fields hundreds of miles from the very shores of Stonegate, two dragons, by the names of Goliath and Ballad, roamed beside another beneath the twinkling gases of the stars.

"Tonight is beautiful," said the larger dragon, Goliath. He was the largest out of all the brothers. His scales were onyx black, and he was like a thundering mountain of muscle. The intelligence held within his black eyes contained great depth.

The other's whose name be Ballad was the youngest (whose only true feat was his great speed and charisma.) "Sure is," he agreed. However, the Wind Dragon's mind appeared to veer towards something rather more important than just the glorious night. Looking up to Goliath, he asked, "Why did you bring me out here?"

When Goliath heard the question, he thought to stop; but found walking the fields too enjoyable, and answered, "It is time you come to terms with your heart, Ballad. The boy has come of age, being eighteen next month. I'm proud to tell you he's grown strong, but he lacks discipline. It is time for you to summon him. He does not yet know he holds your powers. Joshua has done a fine job of keeping them hidden from him. He's unlike Astrid's girl; she is only nine and already knows of them. She will have to be taught earlier than any of us would've guessed. I hope Astrid know's what he's doing with her."

The only eyes to be green were Ballad's, and they widened; the color within them fading darker. "Must it be now? Astrid only has to train the girl at such a young age because she already knows of the powers; but me? You know how stupid humans are at this age! There's no way I can teach him."

"Of course you can," smirked Goliath. "If Asgard was able to train a man like Daniel, and Astrid has to train a girl, I'm sure you can train Isiah without difficulty. Joshua has told me he's like you in a way. Foolish."

After a long sigh for Ballad, he finally answered: "When do I summon him?"

"Tomorrow."

Ballad hated this even more, and he sighed louder and longer. "As you wish," he conceded. With that, he began to leave his brother, and Goliath heard his mumbling: "Ridiculous" and "Stupid" were all he could really make out though as his younger vanished into the night.

The Great Shadow Dragon inwardly laughed, and thought: _'He'll warm up to him.' _And with that thought, began his walk back home.

* * *

**Author's Note by the Pipster: Hey yo, Whatnames thanks for the rad beta readin' you do. **

**Sincerely yours, PipPipCheerio0205**


	5. A New Companion

**A New Companion**

**Enter: Daniel and Thomas**

_**2 Months After The Events of Isiah and Joshua**_

There were fairer days for Daniel to arrive into town. However, Arrendelle was well known for its hospitality towards weary travelers. Speaking of "travelers," there was a second man, who provided rowdy and obnoxious company, but Daniel kept him along for his adventures in case he needed a hand. However, no "hands" had ever been needed.

This second man's name was Thomas, the grandson of the well-known Duke Fredrick of The Southern Isles. His father, Charles, had been a modest man. He was a logger for most of his life, big and burly, and sweet as pumpkin pie, or so his wife Clarice would always say. Thomas loved his mother to bits, as he did his father, but the one man he despised was the man he had never met: his grandfather.

Duke Fredrick of The Southern Isles – even speaking that name burned his throat – and Thomas was never much into emotion excluding an ever so nasty temper, but the fire within him would singe through his veins if even his grandfather was so much as brought up in any conversation. Daniel had found it rather questionable as to why the subject boiled so fiercely with his companion. As far as he knew, Duke Fredrick was never a tyrant of any kind, never accused of any crimes, and in fact, he had actually met the elder once.

He looked like any old man one would see walking around: posture slightly arched due to age, teeth yellowish, and dark eyes containing within them tales that might never be spoken. The only difference was that Fredrick wore the clothes of a high-established duke. Could it be jealousy that plagued Thomas? Daniel didn't think he would ever know.

The afternoon was a bit cooler than what Arrendelle had been seeing throughout the last month. The village's mills ran like they often did, with the smoke accumulating above the town as women bought things from the markets and children ran around laughing with the sweet drunkenness of the purest innocence. Watching them play, reminded Daniel of a time when he was boy, and after catching his first cat-fish, of his proud father. He remembered vividly what the old man had told him: "G'job, boy! Now, trowe' th'poor creature back."

"Huh? How come?" Daniel could remember his own words as well. He envisioned clearly the memory of him walking out of that muddy creek, his bottoms all soaked and dripping with the wet soil of the riverbed.

Daniel would never forget the sincere look that came to his father's aged face. What his father said next would forever stay with him. The old man came to the young Daniel, looking upon the struggling catfish that had its mouth hung on the rod's hook. Grabbed the rod, he did, grabbed it from Daniel's little hands, and unhooked the poor fish, and then heaved it back into the water. It flapped around for a moment, but then the current of the creek carried it off, and the man patted the young boy's head.

"Youngin'," he said, "dere's much you've gotta know about ta world and its creatures. Ya need's ta' understand that all life oughta be treated equal. Understand me, boy? Just cause' we got fingers and thumbs, don't mean we got ta right to treat de animals bad. We share all dis world's wonder, we need's ta respect all them that livin' and breathin' the same air as us. Like when the ol' dragons were here, they'd love all of us. They didn't care whether a man be poor or rich, young n'scrawny like ya'self or old and fat like me. 'Dem dragons, they knew how things oughta be." Daniel could remember his father's forlorn face. "Shame dat we forgot 'bout 'em. Been centuries and not a sign. Sad thing that is. They'd been our last chance maybe. One day, I hope, tey will come back. Come on then, boy. 'Nuff dilly-dally. I'm hungry, let's go get somethin' to eat"

It was a memory to last a lifetime, and Daniel was determined to hang on to every precious memory of his father that he possibly could.

The two men carried on their way down to the village, and Thomas had said a thing once: "Lord, Christ, Daniel where's a man to eat 'round here?" The walk began to get to him; and the man was parched, longing for a beer and some good food.

What a day! Always complaining Thomas was, bickering about hunger, thirst, exhaustion, the whole nine yards! Was there anything he wouldn't complain about? Daniel thought probably not, having to remind himself not to burn the man's behind. As Asgard had told him:

"Don't take your powers for granted, Daniel. Bad things will come to you if you do. Master them, but don't squander them with frivolities and foolishness."

Very well, he had thought. Pulling himself back to the present, Daniel caught eye of a cabbage market, and said, "If you're hungry, then there's some nice cabbages to be ate. Here." He flipped his partner a single piece. "Go buy some if you're so hungry."

Thomas' jaw nearly dropped. He looked at the coin in his hand and then back to the laughing Daniel. How dare he laugh at him! Thomas reddened, throwing the coin viciously back at the mocking man. "Bah! A cabbage ain't enough to satisfy me! We need some good food, meat, whiskey, an' some bread while we're at it."

He had already returned the coin back into his pouch, and Daniel led his friend onward through Arrendelle. They passed by a large coop of chickens: they were something greatly annoying; but all Thomas saw in them was food. The cage held at least a good fifteen: fat and healthy. And the elderly woman, aged around sixty, that was attending the animals, noticed Thomas' drooling mouth, and stopped the men before they could carry on.

Her features were frighteningly ugly, for her eyes were an odd shade of green, and three loops of silver rings ran through her droopy ears. She had a wide smile, but yet, slim as a needle, and dark bags sagged beneath her eyes. She wore purple genie wear – almost like a fortune teller – and her nose was almost as big as Daniel's. Then she spoke with a scratchy voice, "If ya want them chickens, it'll cost ya a hefty price. My livestock is a special kind, already had three bought. Best thing you can do in times like these."

Daniel could only look at her, saying not a word. He honestly didn't expect Thomas to say anything by the look on his face. He was surprised when the man reached over the pen and touched one of the chickens. It bucked away from his fingertips, and he asked, "What's your price? These are some fine looking barbs. Nice meat I bet too."

The woman tapped her wrinkled finger on her chin, as if to think of a good price. Daniel knew that was a simple farce. "Say, ten pieces. Sound good?"

Neither could deny such an offer. Ten pieces for a whole chicken? Great deal indeed. Thomas gave a sly nod at, Daniel, being his answer yes, and the bald man began to reach into his pocket. The woman leaned forward as if preparing to snatch the money. "Ten pieces?" asked Daniel. He still wasn't sure about this purchase.

"No more, no less," the woman answered. "These chickens will be worth every bit." Daniel noticed the bizarre smile spreading from her oily wrinkles to the single-most hideous mole upon the shrewd woman's cheek. Something definitely odd hung about her, and Daniel could sense it from the way she carried herself, almost like a second shadow.

Fumbling around with the coins for a few seconds, Daniel gathered the requested amount. He eyed Thomas to make sure that he truly wanted the chicken, and seeing no signs of anything to the contrary, handed the money over.

She cackled, snagging the money right up with the flair of a magician. "I knew you ain't gon' be a fool! Go on now." She pointed at the pen. "Pick yourselves a nice plump 'un. Take yer time too! Ain't no rush here." She sat down behind an old, worn out desk on a stool beneath a yellowish tarp that had probably seen better days, as its fabric was ripped, and its color was beginning to fade out.

Thomas was already at the pen, peering around for the fattest chicken. Without moving his gaze when Daniel stood at his side, he asked, "Which one ought I get? They're all nice, ain't they?"

Daniel didn't answer. He felt sorry for them actually: all cooped up with little water and having to walk in their own feces. He knew that smell from the days he worked in the chicken farms; that was the smell of shit. The strong odor made Daniel tear up a little bit; but it didn't even faze Thomas. The only thing his eyes were worried about was which chicken looked the plumpest.

The plumpest, he did come to find, was within one of the chickens standing at the furthest corner of the pen. It was a nice cock with rich black feathers and thick hind-quarters. Its neck was slim, but its body was fat and succulent for poultry. "Look'er o'er there, Daniel," Thomas said, already unlatching the pen's gate. "He's a beauty, ain't he? Why, I'd bet we could feed a whole village with that cock. Good eatin' there, son."

The pen had been opened, and as Thomas took a step inside, the chickens chaotically scrambled. Feathers were sent a flying, chickens were sent a flying, and Thomas was nearly sent a flying! The woman, who had been given the ten pieces, watched in amusement, and Daniel – oh Daniel – couldn't hold in his laughter. "Come on then, champ! Those chickens can't be besting you, can they?" This was the highlight of the day: watching a grown man fumble around trying to catch a single chicken. It was something to see.

Thomas flushed a hot pink, scorning and kicking the chickens that blocked his way. "Get out of my way ya damned barbs!" His embarrassment stuck to his features and even more so when he stumbled. Catching himself, Thomas saw the faintest glimpse of black feathers and thick hind-quarters. He rushed past all the flocking whites and even tripped over a few more, until he went for the neck of the dark feathered creature. "I got's it now!" he shouted, lunging forward.

What happened next was possibly the funniest thing Daniel had ever seen. Thomas went for the chicken with all his might; but somewhere in God's glory did the little creature sense the man's forthcoming; and by the time Thomas landed hard on his face, there was nothing but wet mud and splotches of chicken poop in his hands.

Then he heard the sound of the woman's cackles. "You boy sure are somethin' ain't ya? Shoulda' told ya this before, but there's a bag of corn beside the pen there. Makes catching the rascals a lil' bit easier."

She wasn't lying in the least bit. It was a small bag of what looked to be hand-sewn straw that had a piece of hay wrapped around its top. Daniel picked it up; and heard Thomas' groans as the man stood up filthy from head to toe. "Gah! This is disgustin'!" His usual serious face was coated in brown mud that hardened around his brown eyes and spoiled his once blond hair. He wiped at his face, spitting out dirt, and kicked more chickens out of his way as he jumped the pen's gate, grumbling, "Dirty ol' woman. She was wantin' me to look stupid. Ought give her a piece of mind."

"Look" stupid? Daniel decided not to say anything, but his smile did most of the talking for him. He handed the corn bag to the dirty man, who looked better suited for the ground than walking, and said, "Spread it easy. Not all at once. Find the one you want, and lead it out. Think you can handle that?"

Angrily, Thomas snatched the bag away, still grumbling to himself. He untied the string around the bag and went back inside the pen. This time though, he felt confident that his appetite would be slaked with chicken by the time the sun set; and he'd be damned if an animal would get the better of him.

"Here, ya lil' bastard," Thomas called for it. The chicken didn't pay any mind to him as he crept towards it. Reaching a hand into the bag, Thomas brought out a nice fist-full of corn grains. After making sure that the chicken hadn't been spooked, he squatted down beside it. Its black eyes were like little black marbles between wet feathers and an unintelligent haze. Thomas then began to gently spread out the corn onto the muddy ground.

The chicken didn't move; its attention seemed to be fixed on something else off in the distance. It didn't even try to eat the corn. Thomas grew annoyed. He looked over to Daniel who stood waiting behind the pen's gate, but was only answered with an honest shrug. Then back to the chicken: it hadn't even moved its head. "What are you waitin' for?" he whispered to it, spreading out a few more corn bits. Keeping quiet was getting more and more difficult as time dragged on, and the chicken still hadn't shifted an inch. Its only concern appeared to be staring mindlessly into the sun's distant light.

Thomas couldn't take another second! Throwing the corn bag aside and having its feed spill out for all the other chickens to peck at, he flew at the feathered animal. The chicken tried to tussle away, but Thomas already had his hands tight around its neck and forced its head to the ground. He laughed, picking up the fighting cock by its neck, and looked over with a big smile at Daniel. "I got it! Man, he's a beauty ain't he?" He didn't even care about his friend's answer. Thomas jumped out of the pen again, the chicken having already stopped moving in his clutches. It was under the man's full command.

They then heard the old woman under the tarp laugh even louder than before, nearly tumbling off her stool. "Are you sure ya want that un'? He can be real feisty, think ya can handle it?"

Daniel tried to answer, but Thomas interrupted, "Course I can handle im'!" He was proud of his accomplishment. "Why, I could snap his neck right now if I wanted to!" That wasn't an assumption, he would've done it if it wasn't for the woman's interjection.

"Don't wanna do that, sonny," she had said.

"And why not?" Thomas asked, confused. After all the trouble this chicken had put him through, what better way of revenge than killing it?

But the woman wouldn't have any of that, she said, "Cause that there's a special chicken!"

Special chicken? Both Daniel and Thomas were taken aback by that, having their eyes wonder to the slimmed neck, little rascal gripped between Thomas' dirty fingers. "It's special?" asked Thomas. His voice sounded like he couldn't believe it. How on earth could some normal looking chicken be special except in his belly?

However, the woman seemed to believe with all her heart that it indeed was special. Nodding her head, she went on to say, as she stood up from her stool, "Why would I lie to you youngins'? Is an old lady's word not good'nuff for you? Keep the chick with you, and you'll see what I'd be talkin' bout'."

What an odd lady she was. Daniel raised a brow that seemed to ask the question: "What do you think, Thomas?"

Well, let it be known that, Thomas, thought this woman to be absolutely insane. Gripping the chicken's neck a lil' tighter to make sure it wouldn't escape, and said, "That's just some hullabaloo. This barb ain't none more special than my mama's pigs. It's for eatin' and nothin' else. G'day to you, ma'am!" And with that, Thomas left the crazy old woman and her chickens behind; but Daniel didn't follow.

He saw the woman's face shade a deep red underneath her yellow tarp, and heard her grumbles: "Dumb, boy. Sayin' I'd be lyin'. Just he wait, he'll see. Can't kill that chicken, not n'less he wants bad luck."

Luck? When did luck ever have something to do with a chicken? Daniel wondered. Thomas had already gone to the next stand, and Daniel felt it wouldn't be hard to catch up. So, he approached the old hag sitting slouched atop her stool. "You said something about luck? What do you mean? Is that chicken lucky or something?"

His questions had just the right amount of foolishness to make her even more annoyed, nearly shouting out a lung, "No, you foolish boy! It ain't the chicken! It's the magic dust I feed it! Like ya friend said – it ain't none special than a pig – but ya see that's why I feed it the dust. Make it unlike any other animal out there."

Daniel didn't exactly follow what she was saying. "You feed your chickens magical dust? Like Pixie Dust?"

"Not Pixie Dust," the woman said, and reached under her table. Daniel would've questioned the odd gesture, but then she brought out a thick glass jar containing a strange brownish powder. "It's my own home brew of troll skin, a giant's tooth, and some bickery flowers, and some other special ingredients, but that's only for me to know, now ain't it?"

The jar was wrapped in some kind of pink fabric that looked like silk. Daniel studied the bizarre powder intensely. For the most part it was brown, but he did see a few small crystal-like fragments. Strange, he had thought: _'Crystals aren't usually grown naturally around these parts. That'd be somewhere higher up in the mountains, like Silverchester.' _

He had only been there a few times – mostly with Asgard – and it was a diverse little town. He'd remember passing by a few dwarfs there as well. First time he'd ever met the buggers: smaller than what he'd might've guessed, but the stories about them were, for the most part, true. Whenever he'd go into town to gather supplies for him and Asgard, while they stayed tuckered in the deeper parts of the mountains to train, he'd ran into one of them.

"Hey! Watch where you're goin' thare, boy!" the little dwarf man had said, his face bundled between shaggy brown hair that hugged around a stout breast and into the curliest beard Daniel had ever seen. His eyes were a dark brown, and his brows were like fuzzy caterpillars on a tanned face.

Daniel could remember how nervous he had felt at the young age of twenty, running into his first ever dwarf. He had said, "I'm sorry, I- I really didn't mean, I mean, I didn't mean to run . . ."

"That's enough, boy. I don't want ya to hurt ya'self. What's your name?"

That's how he met his first dwarf. They talked to one another over a few drinks, and Daniel had come to realize that the dwarfs were only the most friendly of kinds. That dwarf's name he couldn't remember off hand, but he believed his friend's had called him, Crab. Daniel never pondered any questions, but simply, just had fun with his new companions. It would be nice to see them again, he reflected.

"Where'd you get those crystals?" Daniel asked, and the woman's eyes widened as he continued, "Aren't they grown more up towards the mountains? Like around Silverchester? I know the dwarfs are quite fond of them."

She didn't answer, but eventually a smile crossed her face. Standing up, she said, "You gotta a good eye on you, boy. You're the first un' to notice that I use crystals in the powder. You've been around them dwarfs? Nice folk they are. I go there to get the crystals every month or so. It's a tedious journey it is, but worth it for my babes." The way she had been looking at the chickens made it obvious as to whom her "babes" were. "Anyway, just keep this hushed between's me and you, don't want people knowing my secret. Here take this." She handed him the jar. "Feed it to the chick every week or so. He'll grow big, and bring you much luck on your journeys. Just make sure that friend of yours don't eat him."

Taking the jar into his hands, Daniel was surprised by how heavy the powder was: definitely the troll skin doing it. "I'll make sure he doesn't. Don't worry." After saying a final, "Thank you," and then leaving the woman to herself, Daniel heard a scream come from the docks.

"Daniel! Daniel come 'ere' now! Daniel!"

It was Thomas! What was the man up to? When Daniel arrived to his friend, he saw a peculiar sight. Thomas stood looking shaken with fear burrowed into his eyes. Against the docks, the chicken resided upon an old crate that had a label reading: "Pickles."

"Thomas," Daniel began, looking highly confused. "What's going on here?"

The terrified man tried to speak: "It- it- the damn thing . . ." but he just couldn't spit the words out.

Daniel raised in question, and stepped down to the first plank of the docks. The chicken looked about as fine as it had in the pen, but that wasn't the thing bothering Thomas. It was when the chicken spoke, did Daniel realize that. "Can you believe this guy?" the chicken clucked. It had a pretty high-pitched voice, made sense with it being a chicken. "He's the one scared? I'm the one who was about to be steamed and boiled! If anyone should be terrified of this situation, oughta be me!"

Both of them were absolutely speechless. That was, until, Daniel finally swallowed down a stiff gulp, and said, "Ugh of course, our apologies. Hmm, Thomas?" Thomas could only look at him, his mouth nearly gaping. "I need to speak with you for a moment."

They tried to stay calm – _truly_ they did – but it was realized to be rather difficult. The chicken stayed quiet, but watched keenly as the two men talked in private. "What in God's creation is that?" Thomas asked. "That ain't no chicken. That woman sold us some type of mystical beast."

Daniel then produced the powder from the jar he had been given, pouring a handful into his palm. It felt of a finer grain than what he was expecting, kind of like cinnamon. "See here?" he asked; Thomas nodded. "It's the powder the woman told me. I think she was a witch of sorts. It isn't the chicken that's special, but it's the powder."

"Give me that jar." Thomas stole the thing from Daniel's hand, and admired it: shaking it a few times, but the powder hadn't changed a bit; it looked perfectly normal. He then went on to sniffing the powder, but oddly, it had no more a scent than the air he breathed. Giving it back to Daniel, who was glad to have the jar back in his possession, Thomas said, "Well, what are we gonna do? I'm not eating somethin' that talks, ain't no way that's gonna happen."

Daniel thought about this. Meeting a talking chicken was the last thing he would've expected from a place like Arrendelle. "Why don't we just keep it? I've already got its food right here." Flashing the jar in Thomas' face, he continued, "She said we only have to feed it once a week. The thing oughta bring us some luck! That's what she told me, anyways."

"So," began Thomas, incredulously, "you're wanting _us _to keep a talking chicken?" He honestly couldn't believe it. "Don't that sound just a speck silly? Surely, a chicken couldn't bring us any luck, even if we do feed it some otherworldly powder. What could the thing do for us?"

Daniel innocently shrugged. "Wouldn't hurt anybody, now would it? Come on, what do you say?" One never knows. They could've been in for some sort of adventure in the near future.

"Ah, what the hell!" Thomas decided, smiling, surrendering to his friend's charm. "But I ain't the one gonna be feeding the thing. That's your job there, Daniel."

Daniel could accept that. After all, it was _his _chicken now. The weirdest, most uncanny thing he had ever seen, and he'd seen some strange things.

When they had finished their talk, the chicken was to be seen still waiting patiently on top the pickle crate, and seeing its new bald-headed owner, said, "That's just great! So, where are we going first?"

It must've overheard them. "Well, we came here to get some supplies before going up to the North Mountain," Daniel said. It was still a challenge to get over the fact that they were talking to an animal. He ignored the strange look given to him by a sailor - who witnessed the bizarre charade, filling the cargo hold of a nearby ship.

"Why are you going up there?" the chicken asked. "There isn't anything but ice and a lot of snow. It isn't a nice place at all."

Thomas interrupted, "Cause the Ice Gillies are in bloom this month. This is the best time to head up there cause we ain't gotta worry bout' the wolves along the southern path. They'd be farther north where the deers are travelin'."

Daniel agreed, nodding his head, and said, "So, you want to come with us? Or do you prefer staying on that pickle crate?"

"Of course I want to come with you!" The chicken flapped its wings with excitement. It leaped from the crate, and found its ways into Daniel's arms, "We need to find a better way to do this," it said.

"What do you mean?" Daniel asked, looking at what he considered to be his new pet of some kind. It was definitely a fat chicken – Thomas did a good job picking out the plumpest – but it wasn't the best creature to be lugging around.

"I mean, I can't keep up with you two on foot. Chicken, remember?" Well, that's obvious, Daniel thought. "And I know you don't want to be carrying my fat butt around, isn't that right baldy?"

Thomas burst out laughing after such a blatant insult. Daniel darkened, thinking: _'This is gonna be a long ride.' _He then said, "We can get a sleigh and some horses. It'll take us about an hour to get there, as long as the storms aren't too bad that way."

That's exactly what they did. They went to the nearest pair of stables they could find, talked to a young stable boy, and acquired two fine horses along with what was a polished sled to ride in. With the chicken sitting cozily between the two, they began their long journey to the Northern Mountains.


	6. Innocence and War (The Beginning of War)

**Innocence and War (The Beginning of War)**

**Enter: Elsa**

_**3 Months After The Events of Daniel and Thomas**_

Months had passed in Arrendelle, and as the leaves changed color with the season of autumn, a young princess, whose pale skin was exposed to the burning sun of the early afternoon, stood about an arched balcony where the wind seemed to gently brush against the very nips of her hair. Wearing an emerald silk dress that had been enchanted with just the right amount of truffles and accessories (bracelets with golden crests) she had been watching the lively world of her father's kingdom grow vivid under the luscious maple smell of fall.

It would've been almost perfect, except if it wasn't for one thing. Elsa _hated _dresses. Everything about them she despised, whether they be ceremonial dresses or just common gowns, didn't matter. She could not stand how they were always causing some sort of dilemma: always having to cross her legs when she sat down, or how they were really itchy around her neck; it was horrible! Especially on a day such as this, where all the peasants wore basically whatever they wanted; and admiring from the perch of her balcony, Elsa saw the broad backs of some hairy men walking among the mills without even their shirts. _'Ew,' _she thought, and turned her gaze away.

She then heard laughter coming from the gardens beneath her, and Elsa saw what looked to be a game of tag. There were several children playing and running around in their autumn wear. She didn't know a single one. Only when she took a glimpse of a young girl's red locks and heard the sound of her sprightly giggles, did Elsa realize that Anna was down there as well. The cheerful redhead looked to be frolicking through the colorful leaves that swirled in the air by the strong gusts of wind; and Elsa nearly called down to her, but heard the opening of her room's door followed by her mother's loving voice.

"Elsa, honey," the Queen had said, entering the room with an affectionate smile between her dimples. The woman was wearing a simple white gown glimmering to the sun's rays that flooded inside the room from the windows; and she appeared to look very happy. "Why aren't you out there with Anna? It's a really pretty day, don't you think you'd want to play?"

The little ice princess turned away from her balcony, still hearing Anna's voice laughing, and was blown away by how beautiful her mother had looked today. The woman was something spectacular, like a dove she was. "I-" Elsa tried to begin, but found herself blushing a hot red, "I don't think they'll like me."

The Queen felt a heavy burden by her daughter's insecurities, and she approached Elsa who shyly backed away to the edge of the balcony and nearly tripped over the length of her dress. The Queen laughed, but kept her friendly smile, and said gazing into her daughter's blue orbs, "Now that doesn't sound very true does it? Elsa, my sweet, you need to stop being so nervous around other children. You're not like this with Anna."

"Because Anna's my sister!" Elsa avoided her mother's eyes. Looking back down at the gamboling children, she couldn't help but to feel the loneliness of her life begin to build up inside her. When she felt the soft hand of the Queen, she flinched.

"Why don't you give it a chance?" she asked. "You never know, you might make a friend."

Elsa pondered the words of her mother around in her head. After hearing more laughter, she came to the better conclusion of: "I guess I could." It couldn't hurt to try or so Elsa hoped. She then followed her mother who led her through the many halls and rooms of the castle. _'Funny,' _Elsa thought, looking at all the paintings that hung perfectly on the walls, _'the halls seem a lot nicer today.' _It wasn't her imagination that made this so, it was the brightness and sublime patterns of the curtains and tapestries with the day's light glistening upon the vases and the artworks of many fine men that had made it so.

In the gardens, a young girl whose hair was a flaming crimson and held up into two pig tails – having so much as a gleeful smile on her face – who was also the youngest daughter of Queen Alexandra, along with being the sibling to the ice princess, Elsa, and whose very name had been, Anna – was playing delightfully with the other children. Many of which, Elsa had never seen before.

"Anna," said the Queen, helping Elsa into view for all the children to see. The princess' little face flushed red when all of them stopped their game to look at her – their eyes like that of the executioner's, all eighteen of those dastardly things. Elsa could almost feel herself shaking, but thankfully, having been close to her mother's side, she could withhold most of her nervousness. However, that didn't mean it wasn't there, and she stood silent, examining all the small heads turned her way. How badly she wished to hide herself away. Away in the bushes! Away in the trees! Anywhere seemed superior to this: being stared at!

Anna was amongst the very forefront of all the assembled eyes, her hair blowing in the gentle wind. She wasn't wearing anything except a basic gown of fallish-yellow – sort of like the leaves that was scraping along the ground as the wind carried them. Seeing her sister – in fact, seeing her outside the castle – surprised Anna greatly. She knew Elsa wasn't much of a socializer, and her young, five-year old brain knew that that wasn't a good thing. How someone could spend an entire day indoors was an absolute mystery to her. Didn't her older sister ever want to play in the green grass? Or swim in the creeks? Or swing on swings? Didn't she just want to be normal for once in her life? These were only the few questions Anna experienced in her head. "Yes, mamma?" she asked.

"Elsa says that she wants to play too. Is that okay?" The way in which the Queen spoke forbade even the slightest sense of protest. And Anna knew this very well.

Her mother's obvious demand – rather than a question – embarrassed Elsa even more as all the taunting eyes of green, blue, and brown continued their harassment. "Mother, please," Elsa spoke from the side of her mouth, nudging the Queen's side, "it's okay. Really, it is. I don't have to play with them."

"Oh, Elsa, don't be ridiculous," the Queen replied, smiling; and spoke up again: "I expect all of you to treat Elsa kindly. I would hate to have to tell your mothers' that you'd treated someone inappropriately."

No answer came from the crowd of children – all except some hardly heard whispers, along with the occasional gaze and retract directed toward a blushing Elsa. Truly, Anna had no problem with allowing her sister to play with them. More than not, she actually was joyous about Elsa's decision. However, she did worry that the democracy of a few mean children might be a little harsh on a tender soul like Elsa's.

When the Queen left back inside, and Elsa still hadn't moved from her spot, still looking as shy as ever with everyone's attention on her. Anna spoke up. "Who wants to play hide and seek?"

Like a suddenly flipped switch, all the eyes were then immediately headed at the girl with the red locks. Even, Elsa, was caught off guard by the sudden proclamation to play her favorite game.

"I do!" came one shout. It was a young boy.

"Oh, oh, oh, me too! Me too!" This one was jumping up and down.

Eventually, all the crowd decided to start hooting and hollering for the game of hide and seek. Their stares were no longer tormenting Elsa, and she sighed a breath of relief. There was only one person to thank, and that was Anna. Even with all her goofy dispositions, Anna was indeed a smart girl; and very caring whenever Elsa was concerned.

Anna smiled. "Okay! Okay!" she shouted. "All of you go hide!" She looked at Elsa who was still standing motionless and winked. "I'll count to one-hundred!"

"Why one-hundred?" one lone boy asked. His voice carried a sense of child ignorance.

"So you'll have time to hide, dummy!" That wasn't Anna who answered. Instead, it was another girl, and she gave the boy a good scolding with her fist.

"Ouch! Hey, you heard the Queen about being mean! That counts me too!"

"No it doesn't! Not for dummies anyways!"

After awhile of pointless arguments, and Elsa just watching, the crowd finally dispersed from one another. Anna had located a nice little tree to shield her eyes behind, and soon began counting a little slowly. The reason was because – being five – she had just learned how to count to one hundred. "1,2,3 . . ."

Behind trees, under shrubs, or covering themselves in dirt to provide the illusion of camouflage, all the children hid. Leaving only one by herself. Elsa. Even though hide and seek _was_ her favorite game, she never played it often except maybe a few times with Anna in the castle. That was never really fun though. Anna would always find her in less than five minutes when it always took Elsa a good ten. However, today – she was sure – would be different. With such a large group she could be provided with essential decoys, and she'd best take them.

Elsa ran as fast as her feet could carry her in a dress, trying her best not to stumble. She searched across the patios, around the fountain, places in the garden, but when she came to the castle's side – where several rose bushes lined themselves against the exterior walls – she realized herself to be intrigued by this possible hiding spot. The autumn roses were in full bloom, looking as gracious as ever swaddled in the leathery, green leaves. Not only would this provide Elsa a great spot to hide, but would have the perk of wonderful smells too!

However so sadly, the last thing she was expecting was the presence of an already occupant. When the ice princess managed her way between two bushes, she saw another girl – around her age, maybe a year older – already sitting tucked behind them. This girl was chubby with plumpish cheeks, and Elsa marveled to the fact that they were as pink as the roses. She must've not been expecting visitors because she bounced to her feet, looking a slight bit terrified for a moment. Then when that moment ended – realizing that she wasn't actually discovered by the seeker, seeing that it was actually the seeker's sister instead – the chunky girl turned a shade of red. Possibly a sign of anger issues. "Hey! Get away from me! You're gonna get me caught, girly! And I'll beat you to a pulp if you do! You want that? Do you? Hey, you want that? I know you don't want that."

"I'm sorry!" Elsa apologized with sincerity. Though, it didn't really seem to calm the furious girl at all. There was the presence of imitation directed at Elsa by the girl's devilish stare, and with one final apology, Elsa left the fuming child with all too much haste, and she tripped over one of the bush's branches. After the sudden rustles of leaves as her shin split the single bush in half, Elsa caught herself barely on her hands.

Then came the snootiest laughter she'd ever heard. It sounded like a pig almost. "Clumsy, girly! I have half a mind to grind your teeth into that wall!" The large girl smacked the castle's side as if making sure it was sturdy enough to withstand the punishment she was thinking to cause.

Frightened, and somewhat, enraged, Elsa stumbled back to her feet – scraping a few knuckles in the process – and fled from the girl's reach, being mocked handsomely by the squealing laughter. So much for being kind to the princess. In reality, her mother probably caused even more problems!

The next spot she found wasn't any better than the last! It was an old, worn out tarp that draped down the castle's side; it was a greenish color with an insignia of Arrendelle's navy: a sea-serpent. This image – as ruptured and severed as the cloth it was sewed upon – was not merely a simple representation of the flags that were raised with the navy. Of course not! The picture of the, "stealthy serpent," some called it that anyway, was the representation of Arrendelle's power: quiet as a slithering serpent, but as lethal as its venom.

She had planned for this to be her new hiding location – she thought she heard Anna call out, "Twenty!", and so, she knew her time wasn't infinite – however, as she went to pull back the green tarp, for reasons unknown to her – as if she knew someone was behind it – Elsa stopped her hand. She stayed paused for a moment, daring her fingers to lightly follow the seams of the fabric's serpent. She then heard a loud, boyish voice come from behind the tarp:

"What awe you doing?" Then, like an angry monkey, the boy jumped out from the tarp. Elsa didn't even have time to yelp from her sudden surprise when the boy said in a stern tone, his eyes bitter: their green splendor turning violent, barking for Elsa to run. "Get ya'self away fwom me. I betta' not get caught because of you. I mean it, I betta' not!" What an accent this child had. It was interesting to say the least.

So much so – that Elsa was greatly flushed: her cheeks scarlet, looking more profusely red upon her pale complexion than what it would on tanner skin – she stumbled backward from the furious boy, who might've struck her had she not been a girl; or, at the very least, a princess; and said with full apologies in her tone: "I'm sorry!"

Just like the girl she met beforehand, this boy, as well, did not settle respectfully with apologies. Let it be assumed, that it, indeed, made things much worse. His freckle-covered face swelled like an inflated balloon, and the entirety of his underdeveloped frame stiffened until a pair of fists formed at his pampered sides. "I don't fowgive you! Neva' in a miwwion yeaws! Eva'! I'm gonna be caught because of you!" A grumble, and a sense of even more annoyance, the boy – whose rich, blondish hair couldn't even compare to the fine strokes of anger on his face – disappeared back behind the tarp.

If there was any reason to ponder further into these aggravated affairs, Elsa hadn't found any. She turned away from where the boy had gone off to, still hearing a few grumbles and mispronounced "r's", and ran her way across the gardens once again. If only she could marvel at the beautiful leaves that crunched beneath her dress shoes, she might've not felt so bad. These children were rude and nasty, and she had yet to find one that had a tinge bit of niceness.

Off in the background as she continued to search, Elsa could hear Anna continuing her count: "Thirty-one, thirty two. . ." But to her amusement, Elsa concluded, that her sister was quite a slow counter. "Uh, thirty-four, yeah, yeah, thirty-five!"

Be that as it was, no matter how slow the words, Elsa still knew, eventually, her sister would reach one hundred; and most certainly, she would be discovered within the garden's open space. Leaving her last hopes in a maple tree that she crossed on her endeavors.

It was a splendid tree. The leaves were colored as if an artist took multiple gallons of paint to each one – not with precise strokes, but with rash sweeps with the largest brush. The bark was richly dark, with its branches beginning to shrivel as if preparing to let the leaves dwindle to the earth when their time came to fall. As it was the law of autumn for trees to die, but then, as it was the law of nature, for them to rebirth in spring. Though only the maturer of minds would see the marvel to be had in this tree. And even though Elsa denied herself along the masses of children known to be "immature," she could not see anything more of this tree other than a hiding spot.

There was a branch, the lowest one among the spectrum of branches, that she could just barely reach. She raised herself with dignity, stretching her torso and tip-toeing her toes, and her arm reached up toward this branch. She moaned a high-pitch shrill when only her longest finger skimmed the surface of the unreachable. She even tried to jump several times, but she hadn't the strength to pull herself up. It was just too high. She wanted to blame it on her dress – being that there wasn't any proper maneuvering in it, tangled up in its tightly sewed laces and itchy truffles – yet, she knew the dress wasn't entirely at fault. Even if she hadn't been wearing it, the branch wouldn't had seemed anymore obtainable. She permitted this fact and sighed, but then, something unexpected stole her attention. A few loud rustles consumed the branches of the tree, and she looked up at it highly confused. Her expression signaling the unspoken slang of: "Huh?"

"Hey you." She then heard a young voice whisper from the tree. "What's got you comin'round here? Huh? 'Tis ain't no orphanage. Go find ya own place to hide."

"I didn't know trees could talk," she answered, amazed by what she just discovered. A talking tree! Elsa played a smile on her face, already having all sorts of questions that she wanted to ask, like: "Do trees feel pain?" or "How are you able to talk?" or, the one that really pestered her, "Can all trees talk?"

They both were then wrapped in a silent pause – Elsa enjoyably having the time to try and figure out what question would be best, and, _the tree_, remained quiet. When she finally came to a decision on what to ask it – her mouth opened ready to speak – the tree timed the event perfectly, beginning to laugh uncontrollably. And by the time she was about to ask what it was laughing at, it spoke again. "It ain't the tree! Oh, Lordy! Lord!" Then out of nowhere, a boy swooped down from the branches, his legs dangling him upside down like a bat at a corresponding level with Elsa, his eyes and her eyes gazing into one another. He was an odd looking creature that was for sure, and Elsa noticed this almost immediately. An all too crooked nose was sprouted like a pointy lump on a face of mischief so obvious by a goofy smile. Not a single spot on him was clean; he was swimming in his own filth, and he appeared to enjoy it. Either that or he decided to leave the smudges of brown on his cheeks unattended, forgetting about the dirt altogether. Just like his unmodest presentation, he wore only the junkiest overalls. Yet, through all these flaws, what really grabbed Elsa's attention was his hair. Never before had there ever been as much curls on a single boy's head as this one. Each one was defined and perfectly shaped – hundreds, maybe thousands of them like little red ants – that not even the worse of his features could deviate Elsa from her admiration. She was so lost in her staring that, in fact, she hadn't noticed when a dirty hand, meant for only pleasant greetings, was offered to her. Only when he spoke again was Elsa snapped out of the reverence for red, curly hair. "Name's Nelson," he said without any recognition he was still upside down – it must've been normal for him to introduce himself in such strange ways even at the expense of others feeling awkward. "How's the miss doin'? Why ain't ya hidin'? Anna'll spot ya if ya don't. That girl's like my maw's cat, Mr. Tinkles, can find any rat in the kitchen. Sure fast too." He stayed waiting for Elsa to respond, but she never did, only her startled eyes were there to keep him company as she slowly backed away. He dropped his hand, coughing up yellow mucus, and spat the soupy solids out on the ground. Then said: "Hey, listen now. Ain't no reason to be rude. Maw's told me you gotta speak when spoke to. I think that goes fer everbody. Princesses too."

He had a point. Somewhere in that jumbled mess of speech, there _was _a point. However, Elsa wasn't blessed with the right state of mind to decipher what exactly he meant, being, that she was lost in a trench of things odd with this boy Nelson as her captor. When she did finally speak though, her tone wasn't filled with pleasant entries – more like a hesitant acceptance to who she spoke to. "I apologize about my rude behavior. My name is Elsa, and Anna is my little sister."

The boy snickered. Was there a reason to snicker? Probably not, but Nelson was a very odd thing. "Hey, I know'cha!"

"You do?"

"Yeah! Course I do. You're the one always inside and never comes outside to play wit' nobody. People say yer a weird un'."

Elsa frowned. "I am not weird." The temperature must've risen outside because she could feel herself getting all too warm around the edges of her face.

"I ain't never said you was!" Nelson protested against an assumption like that. Waving his two hanging arms like pendulums, he tried to resonate his point, continuing with the words: "Just some other people's said it. I ain't said nothin' like that."

"Swear you haven't then," she said.

"Duh-what? Swear on what? I ain't gotta swear to nothin!"

"You better swear on something or _else_!"

"Okay! Okay!" He saw the possible outcome of a bruising coming from a mile away. Or, five feet away since Elsa wasn't at all that far. This girl – or what he presumed of her anyway – wasn't any more alarming than a little kitten at first glances, but after talking with her, Nelson realized there was a certain intimation about her. It might've been the fists that were down at her sides, and surely the look on her soft face wasn't anything to toy with, and Nelson didn't really want to be pummeled today. Taking all that into consideration, he said while making a cross over his heart, "If it's alright with you, miss, I'd want to swear on some thangs near and dear to ma'heart." [Elsa nodded, allowing him to swear on whatever he pleased.] "I swear, on my life, my maw's life, my pa's life, my brother's life, my sister's life, my grandma's life, my granddaddy's life," [Every life he swore in was represented with a cross over his little chest.] "Mr. Tinkles' life, that boy's whose sandwich I ate's life, the man who lives cross from me's life, I swear yer life . . ."

"My life? Why my life?" she asked.

"I dunno. Lemme finish!" He mumbled a few words between his lips that Elsa couldn't hear. She supposed it was about her interruption; and then with a cough and a serious change in expression, he continued. "And if I ain't a saint, and tell nothin' but the truth, may God strike ma'down. I swear I ain't had no part in callin' you somethin' that ain't true. My maw raised me good. I ain't gonna be makin' fun of someone or somethin' that ain't deserving of it. Unless you're Booger Bobby, he eats them boogers like nothin' I've seen before." [Elsa cringed as he retold the tales of Booger Bobby.] "One time me and some friends went to town, ya know, normal day and such, and there he was! just sitting on Old Geezer's lawn eatin' them boogers. And I ain't none the shame to say I laughed at 'im!" A smile refined in that same happiness of when he laughed at Booger Bobby developed on his face. "Has inyone told ya yer sure do talk funny?"

It was a subject transaction of such multitudes and such apparent wits that Elsa nearly lost her head! Almost shouting without even realizing: "I don't talk funny!" Before saying anything more, Elsa made sure to keep her tone low so Anna wouldn't hear her. Surely, the little princess had finished counting by now and just hadn't made it to this side of the garden yet. But to be frank, Elsa didn't care about winning anymore. This boy – strange even though he was – peaked her interest. "I talk like a princess should! Mommy says I have to be _el-eg-ant _when speaking to someone."

"_El-eg-ant_?" Nelson mimicked with the same confused pronunciation – yet, the way he said it, sounded so wrong to Elsa that she was offended. Swinging back and forth like a monkey on the branch, Nelson's lips quavered as he pondered that word in his mind. He resembled a true man of philosophy, all the way up to his curly hair, as he thought it over. Then coming to a certain notion, he said, "That word ain't makin' a split of sense! It ain't no word! I bet ya don't even know what it means."

"Yes I do!"

"No ya don't! Ain't no way! It ain't a word. Simple."

"Yes it is!"

"Nu-uh!"

They could've bickered like that all day into the next morning, however, with Elsa's short fused temper like dynamite, she couldn't bear a single moment more of this arguing. In her head she wanted to strangle him, strangle him to his very demise, but she only managed to grab his hair when she lunged at him, yelling and tooting her shrilled voice as she pulled him from his place in the tree.

Nelson shrieked in terror as the squishy hands of his oppressor slung him down onto the ground. And again when he saw Elsa's shadow raise a fist into the sky about to smack him on his dirty face. He flinched, and tumbled to his knees, holding his hands at his chest as if to recite prayer. "No! No! Ain't no reason for that! Oh please dearest princess! Ain't no reason! Can ya find it in yer heart to forgive such a sinner like me?"

Her fist still raised high in the air, Elsa glared into the boy's pleading eyes. "Take back what you said about how I talk!"

"But-"

"Do it!"

"I'm sorry!" Nelson proclaimed to the high heavens as if his prayer had been answered. "You's don't talk a slick bit funny. Not at all. Not one bit. Zero. Zip. You gotta perrty voice. Please, miss, don't smite ma'down! I still's got my maw and pa I gotta look after. What they'd do without me? They'd starve! Oh how horrible it all is! Starve! I don't want that!" [In reality, they wouldn't starve. His father worked the fields as a farmer.] "Do you want somethin' like that to happen to them poor, nice folk? They hadn't done nothin to deserve this. It's my fault! Please forgive me, miss!" With all the kindness of the world, he saw the shadow's fist beginning to slowly fall back into place at Elsa's side.

She smiled victoriously, her little dimples so perfectly spaced and cutely proportioned. "You're forgiven." She said that with as much gracefulness that a young lady like herself could. She pitied the young man who only wanted to take care of his family. She even bestowed honor upon him.

Nelson jumped up as quickly as he fell, shouting with glee, "Thank you! Thank you, miss! I ain't nu'in like a preacher, but yer a saint! I don't know what I'd do if my family went hungry." By the way he talked about his "family starving," it could be presumed that he believed what he was saying was actually true.

From their places standing on the ground, Nelson considered his sense of exposure, with the tree no longer camouflaging him, as a crucial problem due to Elsa. If it wasn't for her, he'd still be safe and sound from Anna – who they heard just then yell out: "Seventy!" Oh the treachery of it all! "Yer know," Nelson said, "yer sister is a smart un'. Ain't she? I can't even count to fifty."

"Oh yeah? I can count way higher than that!" Was it strange that Elsa felt a sudden tinge of rivalry toward her sister? She sure didn't think so. In Elsa's mind, older sisters were naturally smarter than their younger sisters. That was just the way it was. How it should always be!

"I bet ya can't!" Nelson answered with obscenity, forgetting clearly of the scramble they had just a few moments ago. "Yer just jealous of Anna ain't ya? I bet you are! That ain't nothin to be ashamed 'bout. Every'un get's a little jealous. Ain't no shame. Ain't no shame at all, miss."

However, even though he didn't mean any offense by it, Elsa didn't find his words reassuring. Without even knowing herself to do it, she brought a good hand to the boy's cheek, blistering it red.

"Ow!" he cried, rubbing the now tender spot of the glowing right side of his face. In all his ten years on earth, Nelson never experienced a strike that could even come close to Elsa's; and he'd been hit a lot by girls if you could believe it!

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Astrid had been in the foulest of moods today – more than usual. Like he was exposed to some new form of anger that he couldn't recognize. He didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. However, if he really thought about it, it didn't matter that much. There hadn't been a time – that he could remember anyway – when he wasn't distressed about something – anything.

He strode amid the front opening of the cave this autumn day, though, being high up in the mountains, one couldn't really tell what season it was. Snow covered every inch, every crack, and every patch of dirt for miles atop Astrid's mountain top – it wasn't really _his _mountain top, but he liked to think it was. Ironically, Astrid hated the snow, so much so, that he never left his cave! Often times, actually, _all the time_, he would send Edith out to go scrounge up some food and supplies. Astrid liked not thinking himself lazy, but rather, making use of his resources. That was until his, _resources_, began refusing to venture along the paths to the nearby Arrendelle. She said something along the words: "It's too far and tiresome. Why don't you go get 'em? You're getting fat you know." And Astrid would just retaliate from the insults Edith constantly mocked him with, and would hide away somewhere deeper in the cave. That's what he wished he could do today. Hide. The mighty Dragon had a sneer on his face – each one of his fangs sharp as razors – and was pacing back and forth, and paid not a single attention to Edith who was watching him from within the dark cave, flying around on her broomstick. It wasn't until he heard the woman's dry cackles did he yell at her, anger evident in his tone. "Edith! Come to me now!"

The witch wasn't at all fazed by her companion's loud mouth, but instead laughed even harder. Astrid awaited for her to arrive to him, and then – even though it's against Dragon's Code to eat humans (well Edith wasn't a human) – he wouldn't hesitate to sink his teeth into her boisterous jaw, silencing her for good. He dreamt fondly of those thoughts for a moment, but when, again, Edith laughed, he was cast back into reality. She said to him: "Hold your horses, oh, dubious one!" The way she spoke to him was almost unbearable! With every passing hour of every passing day, Astrid found himself despising the witch more and more.

He went back to pacing, forgetting about Edith all together – or trying to (things like that are difficult to do) – and when she finally arrived to her flustered friend (the way Astrid was carrying himself made it obvious there were inner battles burning within him) on her broomstick, she began to ask, "What's got-" but was interrupted by Astrid's thunderous roars.

"You know exactly what it is!" he then shouted for anybody to hear, hoping they _would_ hear him so they would coward away. "My father is coming to visit me!" His hissed the word "father" with so much disgust that he, Astrid, didn't realize how exactly angry he was until now. It felt good.

"_And_ what's the big deal?" questioned Edith, with her voice sounding as much as a croaking frog as ever. Astrid growled, but allowed her to continue as he paced. He expected her to start making jokes, and he wasn't disappointed. "You know, da-da, the guy that raised you and took care of you, for . . . for how ever long dragons live." [What a fool, Astrid thought.] "If he's coming to visit you today shouldn't you be happy? I mean he _is _your father."

Astrid's face began to soften, but still his excitement remained, and he said, "You don't know my father like I, or my brothers, do. Have you forgotten who we are? I haven't seen Chamchichi, my father, in over two thousand years. And I know enough to tell you that he just doesn't come to visit out of convenience. There has to be a reason why. Whether it's good or bad . . ." Astrid's words began to falter, as if he was thinking about something that happened in the past, "there is always a reason."

The excited Ice dragon spent the next hour preparing himself for his father's arrival. There was a spa of sorts within the deepest belly of the cave, where the hot steam shot out from dozens of geysers, and in the center was a sparkling lake. The water was so clear that a man could see the very fishes of exotic types swimming in it. There was a nice cyan color of light to the atmosphere, the crystals hanging above the cave's rigid roof made this so. And Astrid enjoyed cleansing himself here. When that had been taken care of, Astrid then assumed the job of a cleaning-maid, having Edith help him reach the smaller places that he couldn't fit into. Her broom was finally of use to him. He thanked Edith for her services and she went off somewhere. Probably to clean herself as well. But before she went, he told her not to bother Chamchichi when he arrived, and to stay out of sight. She told him not to worry and that you won't even know I'm here; and then she went off to the cave's spa.

By the time the Great Elder arrived, everything that Astrid wished to be accomplished had been completed: the walls of the cave were spotless – well, as much as cave's walls could be – Astrid's blue scales were nice and shiny like precious diamonds, and Edith was nowhere in sight. Astrid was glad that his companion had listened to him. He left the cave and saw Chamchichi standing before him. He looked so similar to Astrid it was astonishing, however, instead of blue scales as were Astrid's, the Elder's were light gray, as it was that all Dragon's scales become that color by the time they're nine thousand.

Astrid felt weak in the presence of his father. Not even the pride he had for himself could postpone the shakiness in his knees. And he said: " Father . . ." though, that was about all he could say. Anything else might've been too much for him to handle. He hadn't seen the Elder in over two thousand years!

Aside from Goliath, Astrid was the largest of all his brothers. He actually envied Goliath sometimes because how large the Shadow Dragon was, wishing that he too could be that size. Though there wasn't any reason to complain – even if Astrid thought so – because he wasn't nearly as small as Ballad. The Wind Dragon inherited the size of Chamchichi, since their father was also a small dragon, and Astrid, Goliath, and Asgard inherited their respectful sizes from their mother.

Yet even though Astrid was broader in terms of size compared to his old father, he still felt so insignificant to the wise Elder. For, Chamchichi, his father, who had lived ten thousand years, was able to perform all four elements of Ice, Fire, Wind, and Shadow. However, he preferred the power of Shadow over the other three because unlike his own father, Ostrid, who had died nearly nine thousand years ago, Chamchichi was originally the Shadow Dragon of the previous generation of his brothers: Jewels, Macon, and Candiatus. So, naturally, the Elder had a strong connection with Goliath for they both were the original holders of the power of Shadow.

What is the Shadow element? Astrid could never decipher what it really was; and all Goliath told him was that it was of the mind. The mind? Astrid would say. He couldn't understand how the power of the mind could actually benefit his brother in the physical world. It's not that he didn't try to understand Shadow, but yet, none of his studies ever obtained him any better knowledge. He eventually just gave it up as a useless element that he would never understand. And Goliath pitied him for it, but Astrid didn't care.

"My son," spoke Chamchichi, his voice smooth with wisdom: calm, down-to-earth; like what he was saying was of the utmost importance, and whatever Astrid had as a response wouldn't even compare to the complexity in which the old Dragon spoke. "Why is it that I sense a great distress within you? Do you not wish to see me? Or has your pride blinded you that you cannot bow to your own father?" He didn't have to raise his voice to bring fear upon Astrid. The fear the Ice Dragon was experiencing was just natural when faced with a force so much more powerful than he.

Astrid bowed his head, and said with a sorrowful tone, closing his eyes as if to allow his words to have more meaning: "Of course not, father. I would never disrespect you in such a way. Forgive me."

Chamchichi stayed stern, his face expressionless. Then he looked angrily upon his bowing son. "Prideful adolescent! You only bow when I point it out to you! Your pride is your weakness! Why haven't you summoned the girl yet?"

Astrid shot up. Now his father's voice began to raise, and that was never a good thing. Chamchichi waited for him to answer, and Astrid shared his own sense of fury, yelling, "Why is it that I am left to train a girl? None! Not a single one of my brothers have had to deal with this! Women are weak, useless, deceiving wretches!" He put as much effort to make the word, "wretches," sound as if it was the truth. It _was_ the truth in Astrid's eyes. He spoke so passionately about this belief that he had forgotten who he was speaking to!

Chamchichi roared! It was so powerful that Astrid felt himself tremble like a puppy in the wake of his father's powerful voice. The Elder finally spoke when he calmed down a bit, but his voice was still potent enough to remind Astrid that he was _his _son, and not the other way around. "Silence your pride! How _dare you _speak so stupidly to me! I named you after your dearest mother least you not forget! She is the one that raised you and took care of you, and now you say that all women are wretches? What would your mother think of this lunacy? Your pride blinds you my son. Don't let it deceive you."

The topic of his mother – whose name was also, Astrid – brought Chamchichi's son's cold heart to sink. Astrid's black eyes no longer resonated fury, but looked as if a dagger was plunged into his chest: hurt and confused as to why his father would say something like this. The Ice Dragon felt so many emotions flowing through him in this instant that he said not a single word. He loved her. And now, his _own _father made it sound as if he hadn't. "Forgive me!" He wasn't aware of his own words. "Oh, father! Forgive me!" Astrid fell to his knees, his wings dwindling over him as he rested his head on the freezing ground. He resided in a fully submissive bow. His pride shattered. His mother would be ashamed.

Chamchichi held not a trace of contempt for his son, and he knew that Astrid loved his mother. He thought that maybe he went too far saying what he did, but Chamchichi saw it as a good lesson for Astrid to learn. The Elder's face was then relaxed, his eyes no longer fueled with anger, but with compassion. He then spoke in a tone that extended his love, but didn't surrender his authority. "You're much forgiven, Astrid." [The Ice Dragon returned to his feet.] "Come, invite me into your home. I need to discuss important matters with you."

They went inside the cave.

All the while, Edith kept herself cleverly hidden from the two Dragons. As they talked to another, she stayed tucked away in the shadows, and because of her witch's keen hearing, she eavesdropped without difficulty.

"What news is there to be had, father?" Astrid was to ask before anything else. He then made himself comfortable on a large, smooth stone, with his stomach laying atop it. He stretched every joint in his Dragon's body, a few pops and cracks coming from his tail and wings. He yawned. It was nice to be back indoors.

As he watched his son get comfortable, Chamchichi was in thought for a minute, his expression, just as it usually was, was serious and unmoved. He answered clearly, "There have been many thoughts to pass through my mind these last two thousand years since I last saw any of you. As you know, I spent the last decade mediating. Undisturbed by even the most tempting sounds. And through those years of careful meditation, I have realized that my death is to be expected very soon. My heart, I can feel its pulse, is beginning to beat weaker and weaker every day."

"Don't say that, father!" cried Astrid. His attempts on trying to get comfortable were ruined. He sat in an upright position, eyes and ears fully transfixed on his old father.

"But it's true I'm afraid," answered Chamchichi with a light sigh. A great sensation of sorrow sent them into silence. Until, Chamchichi spoke something more. "That is why I have decided to have a final banquet with all of you before I depart."

"A banquet? With all of us? Surely, there is something more suitable."

"Nonsense!" Chamchichi was laughing now at his son's ridiculous claim. "What is it about a banquet that makes you not like the idea? Is it because you'll have to see Asgard again? Does him becoming Elder some day trouble you to such an extreme that you don't want to see him?"

"What! Of course not!" proclaimed Astrid, withholding his embarrassment. Though, his father's assumptions did have substance because Astrid was jealous. It was a laughable excuse of envy – or that's how Astrid titled it. He believed that the rank of Elder should not go to the oldest brother, but to the most powerful. That's how he really felt about the subject, but he would never admit it to his father. He denied, and said, "I just feel that we're all too busy, and that there might not be the time for us to have one. That is all."

"Then we'll make time! I've come here today to tell you that I want it scheduled on the first of next year. And I want _you_ to go inform your brothers of my plans."

Astrid didn't like this at all. He did his best not to moan for his father's sake. He stood up, and said, still unable to keep himself from complaining: "Why must it be me? Why not Asgard? He's the oldest. It should be his duty."

"Because you know as well as I that Asgard has a family to take care of." [Astrid grumbled.] Chamchichi allowed that to pass, and continued, "And you've been quite lazy as of late." The Elder laughed when he noticed how greatly his words disturbed Astrid's face (the Ice Dragon resembled that of a blushing little girl.) Astrid didn't see himself lazy at all! He had Edith to look after, and that was a drooling task in that of itself. Astrid inwardly laughed thinking about his companion – who was still, by the way, eavesdropping from within the shadows. Chamchichi went on: "Don't worry, my son. Your brothers won't give you any trouble. They've actually been missing you. None of them has seen you in what, eight hundred, nine hundred, years? Surely, it is time to see them again?"

Astrid let out a pout as he thought the entire case over for a good minute. There wasn't any denying his father's request. The Elder was too hard-headed for that (must've been where Astrid got it from.) It just wasn't likely that Chamchichi would accept, "no," as an answer. Astrid wish he would though. But today, as far as Astrid could tell, wasn't the day to try. Chamchichi looked dead serious about this task. And so, Astrid then answered, "I will make sure that they all know about this, _banquet_, before the first of next year. Is this all you ask of me, father?"

"Not quite."

Astrid wanted to roll his eyes. However, he knew, with Chamchichi's superb vision, that the Elder would notice and give out a few well deserved lashings with his claws. Astrid had endured enough of that as a younger Dragon, and would prefer not having to suffer through all that pain again. Considering this, he tried very carefully to sound pleasant toward his father's next task, and said, with a fake smile, "What is it?"

"I want you to summon the girl by the end of this month. I fear there is great trouble brewing up somewhere within the inner Councils of the Dragons. I believe there are some who think that we should be ruling over the humans, and kill all those who oppose us. This is not right, and you know it. Asgard, Goliath, and Ballad need to know of this as well. I will tell them at the banquet. Until then, keep this quiet between us. Goodbye, my son. Remember what I've asked of you. Don't let me down." Chamchichi then exited Astrid's cave and soared away without anything left to say. The strength of his wings could be heard flapping as he went.

Astrid made not a sound. Moved not an inch. If what his father said was true – that there was a possibility of war between humans and Dragons – then he'd best summon that girl. There wasn't any time to waste! "Edith!" he called.

"Yeah?" Edith came out from her hiding spot, and looked upon Astrid who looked different – like, in a way, now had a purpose about him.

"It is time."


	7. An Ancient Tale

**An Ancient Tale**

**_A Few Days Later. . ._**

When the Council of Dragons heard about Chamchichi's, rather, unexpected visit to the Mountain of Quake, there was a great alarm amongst them all. The last time an Elder Dragon journeyed upon the mighty mountain's summit was back in the earliest days of existence, when, the most powerful Dragon, Cassius, the Dragon of Light, whose wisdom and guidance carried throughout thousands of generations, casted his mighty self upon the mountain to summon the Leviathan to destroy the evil sea-devil, Barbarus.

"He's mad!" the oldest council member, Tezcacoatl, shouted – or in the very least, tried to shout so his fellow brothers could hear him (for they too were hollering among one another.)

"Why would he go there?" "What is he thinking!" "Treachery!" It was these words that were being thrown around the Palace of Kuogre, where all eighteen Council members resided hectically round one another in the castle's boardroom, where insults were displayed in the highest multitudes from each Dragons' lips. It was an exciting time. Never before had there been so much emotion presented among the Board of Elders – emotions that were bestowed upon them by, Chamchichi, being, _he_ who had stirred up such a rally.

November twenty-first was the date.

Usually, the autumn was a time of peace, during which, the boardroom was empty and there lied nothing in the likes of politics to be discussed. However, after, when Tezcacoatl learned of the news that Chamchichi would be venturing to the Mountain of Summoning (which was the name that proved most agreeable among the Council-Dragons; however, the mountain's _official _name was Quakelodinia) he had invited all his Brethren of the Board to share in his disgust, as they were to discuss everything (even though it was much disliked) within the regards of politics. Presumably, they talked more of Chamchichi than anything else.

"I say we banish him from the Council!" proclaimed a Dragon of young, green scales and grayish eyes that said: "Is it _really_ a surprise that the old fool would do such a thing?" This green Dragon, whose name, had been none other than, Titrus, was the second son of Tezcacoatl – as for the first born, Samael, was not to be seen present at the Council desks.

The entire room turned quiet after the young Council member's words, murmuring to one another about the youth and his father, who had allowed Titrus to serve as a substitute for a sick, Frilloius. Tezcacoatl despised what his son had said, standing up to dismiss Titrus' proposal – with an aroma of pride that sent every eye toward him – and said, "We cannot simply banish an Earth Dragon from the Council! The Earth Dragons are what uphold this Board together. They are the most essential nutrient to our power and glory! Forget what my son has said, he doesn't know what he speaks of."

"Father. I'm-"

"That is enough, Titrus. This meeting is adjourned. We will talk more of this matter on a later date. Now, if you all will, come with me to the banquet hall. There is a great feast to be had."

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

The next day, Astrid could be seen standing outside his cave with a look of anguish on his face. He was already regretting his decision to train the girl, but even more so, that he was having to wait for Edith to arrive with her. That shrewd witch must've enjoyed trying his patience because Astrid was growing more furious as time progressed, and, with the afternoon growing colder atop his mountain, he could see his breath fog before him. '_Hurry, Edith,' _he thought, _'You know as well as I that time is short. The girl must be here now.' _He continued thinking these thoughts of valuable time being wasted, and when Edith finally arrived with the girl, Astrid turned furious. Edith had kept true to her word to bring the girl back, but she did so without any dignity or regard to Astrid's wishes. The child was unconscious! She lied helplessly and pale between the woman's arms. Edith then rested Elsa on the ground right before the Ice Dragon, having an exaggerated smile on her face.

"Sheesh! What's with the look?' [Astrid growled.] Edith continued. "Don't blame me! It isn't my fault the girl wouldn't cooperate. She's a real brat y'know. Anyway – hey , hey, what did I say about giving me those looks?"

Astrid stomped forward, glaring down upon the resting child who was off dreaming in some unknown fantasy. Then upon Edith with a look of pure spite and annoyance, he said, "I asked you to bring the child under her own acceptance to my summoning! How am I supposed to train her if she fears us?"

Edith shrugged, and started into the cave, saying, "Doesn't matter to me. I brought her here for you, and now she's your problem." She was gone back inside within a moment.

When Elsa awoke, she awoke in a strange place. A place that she might've only come to acknowledge in her dreams. The child felt the ground beneath her: it was rough and jagged; and she moved not an inch from her position. This place – odd as it was – seemed familiar to her for some reason, like in her young mind, she'd been here before. There were hundreds of glimmering crystals hanging upon the roof, and the lake in the center, a few feet from where she laid, glowed a bright cyan color, where shadows tall and wide – rich and marvelous – swallowed her in their cool grasps as a faint breeze touched the tip of her nose. She felt her chest beating, and placed her soft hand upon it. She didn't sit up. She remained laying without a word, but with many thoughts flooding her mind. _'What is this place? Where am I? . . .' _etc. etc.

She then heard a voice. It frightened her, and she jumped up with a gasp. The voice had said from within the shadows: "Finally, you wake! Let me look upon you . . ." the voice went on to say, [Elsa darted her eyes all around the cave, trying to figure out where she was, but failed. She approached the lake and looked into it. It was so clear, and the soft light of cyan impressed itself upon her face. The shadows – with all their intimate charm – caressed her back.] She listened to the voice say: "You don't know where you are, and that's good. Wander brings much wisdom, and your wisdom will grow as you discover."

Elsa didn't understand. "What are you talking about, mister? I'm only ten! I'm too young to be wise or anything like that."

The voice laughed. It was a true laugh, and again, Elsa found herself feeling scared. She asked: "Where am I? I don't want to be here! Where's my mommy and daddy! Anna!" She began to feel herself panic, looking and then retracting her gaze from the splendid lake, but cared no longer of its beauty or fish. All she wanted was to be back home with her family.

The voice spoke again, neglecting everything but its own delight in which it amused itself to the girl's terror. "You are never too young to be wise! Is it so that a baby sucks on its mother's breast without any reason as to why it does? It does not know it needs its mother's nourishment for it to live, but when it is presented with the choice of whether to suckle or to starve, it always chooses the wisest choice; even though it knows not of why it chooses it."

Elsa was even more confused, blushing because she couldn't understand. "I'm sorry, but I don't know what you're talking about. Why am I here? Where's my mommy and daddy! And who are you?"

It was Astrid who had been speaking this whole time, and the powerful Dragon took great pride in revealing himself upon the girl. He arose from the shadows as a frightening image of a serpent. Elsa shrieked! Astrid stood before the tiny girl, she the size of an ant, and caught her frightened gaze with his own look of structure and dignity, for, _he, _was the most intimidating of beasts. Elsa began to weep from her fear, falling upon her knees, and clasping her hands to her face. She dared not look up at the creature; she envisioned its terrible claws, but even more terrible teeth.

As she wept, Astrid admired the sobbing princess with surprised eyes (for why would she be crying?) Feeling not remorse for his actions, but more annoyance because of her tears, he allowed her to continue crying. During this time, Elsa hadn't realized that her powers began to show themselves. There was a freezing sensation from underneath her knees, and Elsa stopped weeping to marvel at it. Astrid admired the spectacle before him, and as her power grew more ferocious, as shards of ice began to build around her as some sort of defense, Astrid laughed, but Elsa continued her feeling of contempt and fear. The ice shards were soon as sharp as knives, and were raising magically from the ground from where Elsa stayed on her knees, and the shards only grew larger. The power Elsa began to feel frightened her to even more extremes. All she knew beforehand, was that she used to make snowmen with her powers and decorate the dining room, but now, as she realized, they were something much more. And it scared her. The spikes that she had created were then pointed at Astrid like spears, daring the Dragon to move.

He didn't move, but not because he was scared, but because he was too busy laughing. "Oh! Oh! Your control is horrendous! It seems my powers have become too much of a burden for you. It doesn't surprise me in the least. Girls just aren't meant for this important role. Oh! Oh! Don't threaten me with those little spikes you've created!"

Elsa flushed a hot red, feeling embarrassed as Astrid laughed at her. She regarded the spikes in front of her, and felt a queasiness in her stomach. But then, like a hit in the face, she adhered to the words he had said. "What do you mean _your _powers? They're mine! Not yours!" The spikes grew ever closer toward Astrid's chest.

And Astrid took a step forward, smiling. "Don't be so naïve. Even if you are young, did you really think you were someone special? Sure, you have been given a gift, but it _is my _gift. Anyone could've been chosen, but for some reason it was you."

"Chosen? Huh? No . . . no!" Elsa shook her head violently, standing to her feet, but still felt too weak to stand upright. She looked into Astrid's eyes, but not long, because she dared not terrorize herself anymore with his severe glare.

"You cannot deny it," he said. "Every living thing has an origin."

"But ice isn't a living thing. My powers _aren't_ a living thing!"

Astrid laughed. "Come now, you surely don't believe that do you? That is why you will never be able to control them." [As he continued, Elsa's ice spikes slowly began to falter to the ground.] He kept a steady look on the girl. "See there," he said, talking about the spikes as they lowered, "I can tell you're calming down a bit. See how the ice is losing momentum?"

Elsa said nothing, but watched the ice move away from the Dragon's chest. And Astrid felt like a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders. Truth was, he actually felt quite uneasy about the situation (he knew that not even he could withstand two stakes in the heart); and then said with more restful eyes and tone, "There isn't any need to worry about me. I cannot kill you."

Elsa's face lit up when those words were spoken. Though, that wasn't to say she no longer felt fearful of Astrid – hearing only stories in books about Dragons, and how they would kidnap Princesses, and then how a brave Knight would always save them. That's what she was waiting for: a Knight. A Knight would rescue her! She smiled thinking about this, and asked, "Why's that?"

"Because! if I was to kill you," [Astrid's voice raised along with his annoyance, talking to the child with disapproval. He knew Chamchichi would not approve of him showing such resentment toward the girl, but the Elder wasn't here, and so he figured there would be nothing standing in his way. After all, this _was _his student, and he could talk to her any way he pleased.] "that would mean that I myself would die! We wouldn't want that now would we? A Dragon cannot slay his own heart!"

"What do you mean?" she asked. Her eyes filled themselves with wander like all children when something new and exciting reveals itself to their young spirits.

"Are you really so stupid? It isn't enough that I have to train a weakling like you, but to have you so ludicrously ignorant! It baffles me! Long ago, before any human existed, before even I existed, there was a single Dragon named, Cassius. He lived longer than any Dragon, two hundred thousand years! when the seas were the only things to be seen for hundreds of miles. And land was found only in tiny islands, and not a single continent existed. That was until, Cassius, discovered the four powers of Earth: Ice, Shadow, Wind, and Fire. It was only then was the lands created. He used Fire to create the dirt and sands, Ice to create the mountains, Wind to create the air and creatures, and Shadow . . ."

Elsa noticed Astrid's embarrassing pause.

"He used Shadow. . . he used it . . . on – what did he use it on? Never mind that. Anyway, as I was saying, when Cassius had finished his task on completing the lands, there had been another force just as powerful as he. An evil sea-devil named, Barbarus. He became furious with Cassius when the Dragon created the lands, destroying the sea; and said unto him: 'In your endeavors to create, Cassius, you have destroyed so much. The time has come for me to end this!' The seas raised with tidal waves the size of Cassius' mountains, the Earth Elements had been disrupted, creating what you humans now call 'natural disasters.' It is said that these storms were so powerful that they left the Earth shattered and wasted for centuries." [Elsa listened closely as Astrid continued his ancient tale.]

"When the time had came, that, Cassius, could not defeat Barbarus, he went to the highest mountain, that he later named Quakelodinia, and called upon the heavens to send down their Leviathan: a sea-monster so powerful and dangerous that even Cassius himself trembled before the mighty beast. It was said that there was a crack, the size of all of Europe, that then split open the sky, and the Leviathan dropped into the ocean, creating a splash so enormous that every inch of the Earth was once again covered in water. When Barbarus heard news that the Leviathan was coming to smite him, the sea-devil had said: 'If it is me you wish to kill, Cassius, understand that I will return. Not in this form, but in the form of your own creation!' What he meant by that? I still do not know. No one does. When the Leviathan had eaten Barbarus' head, and was casted away by Cassius, Cassius then removed all the water from the lands and separated them into the four oceans that we now know. He hadn't forgotten of Barbarus' words, and that was when he created the four original Earth Dragons in the shed of his own image: Jackoul the original Ice Dragon, Ulysses the original Fire Dragon, Yumi the Wind Dragon, and Plentitus the Shadow Dragon. They were then ordered by Cassius to watch over his creation, and to not allow Barbarus – if he ever returned – to destroy it.

"And as generations passed, and as evolution took its course on Cassius' creations, Barbarus never returned. After awhile, none believed him to, but Cassius – as wise as he was – knew better. He told the Earth Dragons to never drop their guards, to, always, be ready for anything. They waited for thousands of years, and nothing. Cassius died, and was then buried atop the Mountain of Quakelodinia, where his soul forever rests with the Earth. Eventually, long after Cassius' death, when humans where finally walking among the lands, the Dragons found themselves in close companionship with them. Not as pets or anything of that sort, but as their protectors. Was it something Cassius would had want? Possibly. Many more years passed, and slowly the humans began to change. Dragon-hunters. The point had reached a climax to where the humans began slaying Dragons. The Earth Dragons were then forced to use their powers to destroy many of the human's civilizations, bringing them into a dark age. Let it be said that the humans grew very bitter because of it, forbidding Dragons from their lands." [Astrid spoke with hatred in his eyes as he continued.] "And so, the Dragons did not fight them. For they could not destroy Cassius' creations. They let the humans live their lives, but from a distance, still fearing the return of Barbarus.

"It was only until my father's generation – when I was only a young Dragon – did the humans grow to the point of absolute hate toward us, killing any Dragon on sight. And so, my father, Chamchichi, known for his powers that were near to Cassius', created the Five Dragon Hearts. Each Heart possessed the powers of all of his brothers, along with his, and they placed them upon the mountain known as, Orosol, among four pedestals. My father then lit them with a mixture of all the elements, his brothers were then told to slice open their hands and let the blood drip upon their destined Heart. The ceremony was then complete, and my father said the ancient words of: 'Kyul-oh tempril.' Meaning that the power the hearts held were to be granted upon any human that would be worthy every one-thousand years, and allow them to protect Cassius' creation, for, we can no longer. And that is where we are now. You, Elsa, daughter of King Xavier and Queen Alexandra, _you_, are my Heart."


	8. A Banquet To Be Had & The Ice Gillie

**A Banquet To Be Had**

**The Ice Gillie**

Similar to many days prior, on November twenty-ninth, there was an exhilarating sensation of crisp autumn air. The dew of yesterday's drizzle glimmered in the warm sunlight, and dirty puddles of brown and yellow, colored by the rotting leaves that had fallen, soaked into the dirt-roads with sloppy inscriptions of horse hooves. Like all mornings that were to be expected in season, there was a refreshing mist that gingerly fondled the eyes, and, with that same mist, came the dampness of a charming atmosphere that groped about the senses with caring, icy fingers.

Beyond all things envisioned: the sun arising from its mission beneath the watery depths of the Atlantic, the Atlantic itself, for all the wonders the ocean could possess, beyond the horizon itself! ignoring all these sights and glorious creations of what one might call the "Miracles of God," only then would there lie in discovery (whether discovered by sailing the chilly waters, or, by swimming – if a man be daring enough) an island completely secluded from any civilization.

The island wasn't large – like a tropical get-a-way in sorts: the beaches, and the tides that emerged from the shallow, salt water, the slender palm trees sticking out like roots from the sand, as their leaves shivered by the virtuous breeze, and least not forget, that unlike the mainland that was afflicted with freezing temperatures, the island was friendly and as warm as its sands. Though, the wonder didn't halt at the beach. Proceeding deeper into the island, coming forth from behind the forest of palms trees, there, only to be gazed at with pure bliss, was a marvelous field of growing flowers, and green grass, and even greener weeds. The island was a home to many exotic creatures: baboons, rainbow birds (the name wasn't known), even ants! – on their red mounds they'd scale, marching, in perfect unison, with bits of decayed melons on their backs, into their homes, only to surrender themselves to their Queen. Even the clouds were jealous of this island's innocence and beauty! Hills were plentiful to the landscape, even furthering the island's character, and, like most other hills that produced vibrant vegetation, there had been only the prettiest of daffodils, tulips, and rows of dandelions.

What was this island's name? Strangely enough, it didn't have a name. It was just there, oblivious to the entire world around it; like it had been lost at sea for centuries. True as this was however, there had indeed been living _humanity_ within its grasp. For, this exact island – the island with so many miracles and sights – was the training ground for one exhausted Isiah and one Ballad. Though, they weren't alone. As Ballad did so in training his student, Goliath and Joshua were watching from a distance, chatting about old times with one another.

"Seems Ballad is having a time with your brother," spoke Goliath. [Ballad could be heard yelling and shouting about Isiah's posture.]

"I know! I know! Back straight, head high! You don't gotta tell me!" Would be Isiah's response almost every time.

Joshua laughed as he sat on his bottom in the grass, playing with a small dandelion between his fingers. "He has Ballad's spirit alright. They mesh pretty well together don't they? Isiah's told me how much he's been enjoying himself lately. I'm glad to see him happy."

"Are you stupid? Back straight!" [Ballad]

"That's what I'm doing!" [Isiah]

Goliath, finding peace watching his brother and Isiah argue, laid on his stomach beside Joshua. He then brought his massive arms underneath his jaw as a cushion. He sighed, but not a distressed sigh, but a refreshing sigh, and then smiled. "And so, it's times like these I remember my childhood."

Joshua only nodded, watching his brother with hope that he would _finally _straighten his posture. Thinking: _'It's not that hard, Isiah. Back straight . . . straighter . . .' _

"Perfect!" shouted Ballad. "Hold it there. Don't move an inch." With a smile of glory, Ballad looked toward Goliath – a little offended by his brother's disrespectful state of laying on his stomach – and said, while faking a tone that didn't reveal his displeasure, "See here? Ha! And I thought I wasn't going to be able to train him!" [Goliath only laughed, as so did Joshua.]

It was then Isiah's turn to speak – or so the young man thought – saying, "Alright then . . ." He adjusted himself to make sure his posture was correct. "What's next?"

"Do you remember anything of what we started yesterday?" Ballad came before his student, holding, still, a sense of pride about himself, smiling to the fact that he was doing so well in teaching a human.

Isiah scratched his head, thinking for a minute, his lips making a funny face of non-remembrance. "Sort off . . ." A moment more and he shook his head. "Nope. Not at all. You didn't tell me I had to."

"Exo-meo-nan-on-me."

"Huh?"

The Wind Dragon took a breath of recollection, rolling his eyes. _'This kid . . . Cassius grant me strength.' _After pondering to himself about his student's amusing ignorance, Ballad then began walking directly backward.

Isiah watched him attentively as he did so, and asked, "What's going on?"

"Don't ask another question. Just watch."

When Ballad stopped walking, he stood for a moment. [Goliath and Joshua too watched with interested gazes.] The Wind Dragon took a deep breath, allowing the wind to rush into him like a vertex through his snout. Speaking the word, "Exomeonanonme (Wind Palms)," in such fluidity that Isiah thought the words to be in the English language. Ballad then held up a single claw directed up toward the blue sky, and shouted, with him seemingly _glowing _with energy, "Oosh! (Release!)" Not a single ounce of energy was wasted as a stream of wind shot out from the Dragon's claw and into the sky. The maneuver was so precise and spectacular, that Isiah couldn't help but to gape. Standing at even ten meters distance, Isiah could feel his soul gravitate in awe, and fear, at the power of his master.

_'So amazing!' _he thought, watching. _'Is that what I'm going to be learning?'_ His brown eyes read like a fantasy of astonishment and admiration; his blond hair – grown longer since October as it flourished wildly at his jaw line (Isiah felt that it made him appear older) – was cluttered over his eyebrows as the entire field commenced into a state of glorious chaos: the grass under all their feet being blown about by Ballad's power, hundreds of bits of white dandelion fuzz gliding along an unset path in the air while casting the sun away behind a cloud of tendrils.

Ballad sustained himself, resisting the urge to gaze at the world he created, with excellent precision. Shouting above the noise of Wind Palms (Exomeonanonme): "As you can see! perfect concentration! You cannot risk having any distractions when performing something like this!" The whistles of the wind prospered. With his sharp claw still pointed in the air at the sky, while gallons of wind streamed out with an impression of flexibility, Ballad spoke even louder. "Whenever I stop! I expect you to be able to do the same! Understand me?"

Isiah nodded excitingly, saying with a tone of great emotion, "I will! I will! Come on then, let me try! Show me! Exo-meo-nan-on-me. Yes! Yes! I can do it!" He was like an elated child who had just discovered some sort of miraculous wonder: his soft complexion, red, by the enthusiasm that most young men have.

The Wind Dragon then ceased Wind Palms, and the world that had once been covered in dandelions, was now at peace with all the animals and insects. Seeing that the coast was clear, the little red ants peeped out from their mounds, and resumed their food gathering like nothing had ever happened, marching in time with their own inner drums.

"Amazing!" proclaimed Isiah. He was frantic, nearly wanting to jump up and down! There were very little instances when Joshua saw his younger brother overfill with joy, but, watching the child run to Ballad, and the boy begging for the Dragon to show him that technique, brought the sweetest smile about the large man.

"Isiah," said Goliath out of any context, but more his own, while he watched master and apprentice talk to one another about the instructions on how to perform Wind Palms, "he's something isn't he? I couldn't see a better match for Ballad." The Shadow Dragon then turned round to face his companion who still sat twiddling another dandelion between his fingers.

Joshua didn't answer for a minute, thinking about all things as he continued toying with the flower. He could feel Goliath's essence before him, awaiting an answer. Smiling, he blew the soft tendrils of the dandelion, and after his second puff (making sure not a single thread remained) he tossed the meaningless stem away, watching it carry itself a few feet in front of him, landing within a patch of tulips. He said after long anticipation: "I haven't felt like this in years – it's a great feeling you know? Isiah and I . . ." [As Joshua spoke to him, Goliath noticed an intriguing frailness to the man's tone.] "it's been hard. Really hard these past few years ever since ma died. It's nice just to relax for once." The words Joshua spoke seemed astray from what he was actually focusing on, and that was Isiah. He watched his brother stand with intense focus as he was then instructed to close his eyes. Joshua heard Ballad say:

"Focus. Good. Good. Feel the Wind flow through you. Our power is unlike Fire and Ice, it requires tenderness and patience. And don't open your eyes! Good. Are they closed? Good. Good. Focus. Take a deep breath. A little bit deeper. Deeper. Just a little more." [Isiah's face turned purple as he was instructed to hold it.] Ballad grinned a grin that said: "I'm going to have fun with this."

Still holding his breath, his entire body feeling ready to burst from the inside out, Isiah awaited for Ballad to say release, but, instead, all he received was: "Hold it. Not a single breath should be released. Yes. Yes. Hold it. Focus. Don't forget to focus."

A strange moaning sound then escaped from the back of Isiah's throat, that not even he was aware that could be a sound, as the purple boy held his breath for another ten seconds; but, not wanting to disappoint his master, Isiah continued to fight for every moment.

Inwardly, Ballad was about to die with laughter, amusing himself to the boy's suffering; however, externally, he kept a serious demeanor about him. "Hold it! Hold it!" [The more purple Isiah became, the more Ballad hollered for him to]: "Hold it! Hooold it!"

And right before Isiah was about to fall over, there was an interruption from the sidelines by Goliath, shouting at Ballad for his childish behavior: "This isn't a time for games! Tell him to release it for goodness sakes!"

It wasn't for Ballad to decided whether Isiah released his breath or not; blowing out all the air that accumulated his lungs with harsh force, Isiah grabbed his chest, making sure his heart hadn't burst. He then wiped a small bit of slobber from his mouth. With a look of agony, he began breathing in and out as his face went from purple, but then immediately to red when he heard Ballad laughing at him.

"I can't believe you fell for that! Humans are sooo stupid!"

"Shut up will you!"

They continued to bicker with one another for the next few minutes.

When the sun began to set across the horizon with orange beams of light melting into the palm trees like smoldering butter, dancing against the yellow sands like a blistering fire of rich color in the late-afternoon, Ballad and Isiah had just finished their daily training. They sat around chatting in the cool grass with Joshua and Goliath: laughs were exchanged, smiles were on all their faces, and they were talking of the future. Questions were brought up within their circle, such as: "How long was it that they planned on staying on the island?"; "When would Isiah be ready for his _test?_" (They didn't talk to much of this because Isiah was terrified of having to take a final test before fully being accepted as Ballad's Heart. The boy was having such a good time with all of them, he didn't want it to end due to failing some exam.) All these questions and more were discussed; none came with a definite answer. And none of them knew of Astrid's arrival.

The Ice Dragon landed on the island with a sneer on his face and a tread that showed his anger. Ballad was the first to see his older brother, jumping up and shouting: "Astrid's come! Astrid!"

Goliath was the next to turn round and see the brother he hadn't heard from in so long; but by his perception, realized that Astrid wasn't glad to see them. Isiah and Joshua stood by another, next to Ballad, and they all three watched as Goliath left to embrace their visitor.

"What's brought you here, _brother_?" Goliath asked in a tone showing that he too could be resentful about his brother's arrival.

"Don't petty me," snarled Astrid, frowning, his eyes darted with the same bitterness Goliath had always known.

The entirety of Astrid's arrival was presented in anger and passionate temperament between the Ice Dragon and the Shadow Dragon, both studying the other with looks that said: "I don't like you, and you don't like me. So, why do we stand before one another?"

The answer was simple. Astrid had come to deliver the message of their father's banquet. And he intended to do so even if it meant being refuted by his brothers.

"I've come bearing a message about a banquet our father is having before he's laid to rest." Astrid looked past Goliath standing before him, and saw the tan scales, glimmering in the casting glow of the dying sun, of his youngest brother, Ballad. The Wind Dragon had a wide smile on his face, obviously glad to see him, but Astrid didn't return such a greeting, instead, returned back to Goliath who said:

"A banquet, eh?" He paused a moment, going over himself with a few thoughts, looking at Astrid who had impatience scribbled across aggravated features that imposed the statement: "Hurry up with an answer." Goliath smiled, but in all opposition, Astrid only frowned. The Shadow Dragon said: "Very well. When is it?"

"The first of next year," Astrid grumbled. "So, are you coming or will I have to tell father of your refusal?" Secretly, but slightly evident in his voice, Astrid didn't want Goliath to come.

"Can we bring our Hearts? I'm positive that they'd want to meet father before his death." Goliath gazed round to Isiah and Joshua who stood beside Ballad with the same look of curious ignorance at what was begin talked of them.

"I don't care – bring them if you want. I'm bringing mine."

"And what of Asgard?"

Astrid hung his head and sighed, thinking over the meeting to be had with his older, and highly disliked, brother. "I haven't spoke to him yet. I'm dreading every second of it."

Goliath laughed, and Astrid glared up at him. "Are you and Asgard still feuding about each other? I thought you two would have grown out of that by three thousand!"

Astrid said nothing, but all he needed to get his point across was the sneer on his face, as it looked like his eyes and jaw had been squashed together by his sharp front canines and snake-like tongue creating a hiss. He turned away, grumbled nothing in the slightest regarding the laughing Goliath, then flew off.

When Goliath returned, Ballad asked, and, to some extent, Isiah and Joshua as well (however only their expressions instituted any sort of question; though, it was all the same to Goliath as he sat before them all), "What did he want?"

All eyes were focused on the large Dragon, whose powerful palms rested peacefully beneath his jaw, as Goliath sighed just as Astrid did about Asgard, and retold them in a tone of displeasure that haunted him because, again, it reminded him of Astrid: "Father's having a banquet the first of next year. And, apparently, we're invited."

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

When Astrid arrived at Asgard's green hilltop, where the wide gorge breathed with fresh water as if it possessed a beating heart, and a pinkish sky that could only come to be in the Southern Isles; and to a reception of the fluid breeze that was so much more pleasant than the tainted, freezing air of the North Mountain, he had not been expecting to bring amusement upon Asgard's two children: Dmitri and Demacus. Who, ever since they were young, Astrid found to be bratty, whiny, and down-right disliked them just as he did their father.

"Uncle! Uncle!" shouted a gleeful Dmitri, running to Astrid and hugging his leg. Demacus stayed off somewhere hidden behind a maple tree with gorgeously red leaves and a buttery texture of branches that blended with astounding serenity with the pink sky.

The young Dmitri nuzzled his little head into his uncle's knee, and Astrid, rolling his eyes, shooed him away. "Where's your father?" he asked, not in the least sounding pleasant.

Dmitri, who had only seen his uncle once in his entire life, was shocked by Astrid's hostility, and murmured not a sound. Demacus peeped round the maple, himself blushing for no reason other than seeing his uncle for the first time in centuries, and he too noticed the bitterness in the Ice Dragon's darted eyes and frown – he only blushed deeper and tucked himself away behind the tree.

Hilda, who had been watching after the boys, Asgard's wife, was in a state of irritation about her brother-in-law's arrival at her home, feeling that he was more of an intruder than anything else – she certainly saw him as nothing more. She told Dmitri to go play with Demacus, and when the young Dragon left with a: "Yes mamma," she glared and spoke with as much coldness as Astrid's ice powers. "What do _you _want?"

Astrid smirked, knowing well that Hilda wanted nothing more than to strangle him – he saw it in her fierce eyes that she hated his company, hated even knowing of his existence – and said, "Now, now, Hilda, don't be so stiff. I'm here for your husband."

"Don't you dare talk to me like that!" was what she wanting to shout, but settled with a sour: "He's not here."

The more time Astrid remained in company, the more Hilda wanted to smack his grinning face – but she didn't want to set a bad example on the boys who were playing and laughing out in the fields.

"That's quite alright," answered Astrid, still swimming in his own arrogance with a saucy smile. "I can wait."

And wait he did – but that was possibly the worst mistake of his life. Dmitri had taken this opportunity, as Astrid sat beside the rock where Daniel and Asgard had talked so many days ago, to try and impress him with tricks and stories about how _awesome _the child was.

"Hey, uncle!" he had shouted once, flying high up in the air. "Watch this!"

Astrid didn't watch. He was more interested in the daffodil in front of him, with a single pedal ripped off by the wind. Dmitri swooped down with a three sixty spin, and swerved to the left as fast as he could, and then to the right, presented his most daring flips and twirls, but everything was in vain because Astrid saw nothing.

"That's good. Good," was what he would say when Dmitri asked him how he did – and since Dmitri was so young, he actually believed his uncle's words, even though he sounded absent-minded when saying them.

Demacus, ever so shy, blushing, and at one point sweating, watched Dmitri perform in front of their uncle, and, like usual, felt insignificant in comparison. Astrid saw the boy and called him to sit beside him. Demacus ran forward, breathing heavily as he came up the hill, and plopped down next to his uncle. Dmitri was still flying all over in the air, zipping past his two spectators, believing them to be admiring him, when, actually, Astrid was talking to Demacus – the child who he found rather strange, but interesting.

"So, who's the oldest?" asked Astrid, addressing about the two brothers' ages.

"Dmitri," replied Demacus, his voice was unsteady due to the redness spreading over his nose.

"Ah, I see," Astrid smiled, and gazed round to the little child beside him. "I bet he bothers you about that doesn't he?"

Demacus nodded.

"Hmm." Astrid noticed his nephew's shyness, and felt sympathy for the young Dragon. _'This child isn't what I thought,' _thought he, who was still smiling, and then carried on to say: "You know, you don't have to always be second string to him."

"What do you mean?" questioned Demacus. Now it was his turn to be surprised, looking up into his uncle's black eyes that seemed to say: "I know how you feel."

"I mean, it's time for you to start standing up for yourself. You cannot continue to be shy and be scared of your brother." [As Astrid talked passionately about this, Demacus' face lit up with hope.] "When you finally become free – become your own Dragon – well that's . . ." Astrid chuckled, and again, looked down at his nephew who he saw admiring him. The Ice Dragon smiled. "That's just something you'll have to find on your own now isn't it?"

"Astrid! Brother! What are you doing here?" All three heard the loud voice of the one and only, Asgard. Dmitri stopped flying and ran to his father, shouting:

"Father's home! Father's home!"

Demacus remained beside Astrid, smiling as he thought about the words his uncle told him. He was even oblivious to when the Ice Dragon stood up and went down to meet his brother. However, Astrid did feel a strange bond for his nephew – a bond he never experienced with anyone, not Edith, not even with his brothers. The only Dragon to ever feel so close to him was his _mother_. It was odd to him, but he figured he'd have time for that later – or utterly forget when he left – because now, standing before him, a smile on the bastard's face, his brother, Asgard.

"How has the _great, mighty Astrid _been?" Asgard asked, embracing his younger brother with a sarcastic grin. "I've heard that you've been gifted a girl as your Heart! Ha! How's that been treating you?"

Astrid was not amused. "It's been treating me about as good as one could expect."

"And what's that?"

"Bad."

Asgard laughed a laugh that frustrated Astrid – the baritone in his older brother's loud voice was a great hindrance in his reason for coming. Astrid continued through his brother's amusement: "Father's having a banquet the first of next year."

Asgard immediately stopped laughing – his face serious. "What for?" he asked. "Is father sick?"

Astrid nodded. "He's dying – that's what he told me."

Like a deflated balloon, Asgard's face dropped as if it had been struck with concrete. His voice quavered in its own sadness as he spoke. "Right – of course. I'll be sure to come. The first, correct?"

". . . of next year," Astrid added to his brother's question. He saw the grief across the Fire Dragon's face, but said no comforting words. Instead, Astrid said a farewell of apathy, and then, without looking back to see his brother's heartbroken eyes about their father's illness, he left the green hilltop, but now, all that remained there was Asgard's sorrow.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Nighttime struck the village of Arrendelle like a silent assassin, saturating the streets with darkness and the pearly light of the crescent moon. Not a sound, not a mouse, stirred within the town. All was asleep – or, _most _was asleep.

Elsa sat awake in her bed, the window closed, and Anna snoring from across the room. The ice princess was reading a book that Astrid had given her about the four Dragon prefixes. These prefixes were the origin of all the Earth Dragon's powers. They were: Exo, this was an example used when Ballad commenced Wind Palms earlier today, meaning _Wind_, Rin, meaning _Fire_, Da, Elsa's prefix, meaning _Ice_, and Yugi, meaning _Shadow_. Astrid gave her the book as a sort of study guide. It was designed with a blue leather cover with the illustration of an ice crystal in the middle. And out of the 2,237 pages that were written in hard-to-understand cursive, Elsa was only on page 100.

_Clank. Clank. Clank. _Came the sounds of rocks hitting the window. Elsa looked up from her study, and stepped out of bed, her eyes glinted with the enthusiasm of many questions – none more evident than: _'What in the world?' _

"Pssh! Elsa! Elsa it's me! Nelson!" _Clank. _Another rock was thrown, hitting the highest part of the window. Nelson was out and about tonight with a goofy grin on his face – his curly, red hair was even dirtier than the day they met at the tree. The boy was wearing his same blue overalls and steel-toed boots, standing beside a set of rose bushes, waiting for his friend to come to the window. He bent over and grabbed another pebble, and was about to throw it, when the window opened, and he saw Elsa's face. Though, she wasn't smiling, nor was she glad to see him; but Nelson didn't really have time to say anything when Elsa scolded him.

"What are you doing out here?"

"Come down 'ere'! I got's to show you somethin!"

"Can't it wait until morning?"

"Duh-what? It ain't gonna be as special in da morning! Come on, please, miss! You'll like it – promise!"

Elsa sighed, looking over at Anna who was still snoring, her head underneath a pillow. Then back to Nelson standing with his hands over his heart, begging for Elsa to come down. She was crossed for a moment – she didn't want to get in trouble, but her childish curiosity was itching to be exposed. The smile on her face confirmed her thoughtful decision. "I'll be down in a minute!"

Elsa looked about her room, hearing Nelson outside kicking around some rocks and leaves, and slid on her blue slippers. Quietly, she walked out of the room, and, after making sure Anna hadn't awoken, silently closed the door. The halls were as dark as they were quiet – the maids slept in their quarters, the Queen and King were on the upper floor. Elsa passed by the portraits and vases from the same day she met Nelson; however, the murals appeared, in a sense, glaring evilly at her. She held back a shriek and ran through the hallways. The sounds of her slippers smacking against the polished floor bounced from painting to painting, vase to vase, wall to wall. She ran down the ballroom's steps, glided through corners and more hallways, and arrived to the front door in record time. She heaved out a loud exhale. With her heart beating faster than ever, she pushed open the door.

Nelson was waiting outside.

Before Elsa even had the time to ask him what _exactly _he wanted, the boy grabbed her by the hand and began running with her. "Follow me," was all he said.

Residing on the outskirts of town, where the southern path to the North Mountain began, hidden behind a row of thick Oak Trees whose branches were like masculine arms and whose leaves glowed a bright orange beneath straggles of watery snow, there was an old, worn-out shack that Elsa had never seen before. The shack was like a speck compared to the mountain it stood beside, and Nelson led Elsa by the hand, a smile on his face, to it. Around the shack was old carts and wagons, an abandoned sled, and in the very back was a stable that had collapsed in from its roof. Nelson held Elsa's hand tight as he opened the shack's front door.

Stepping in, Elsa was greeted with a profound smell of old pumpkins and rotting melons that were engraved with teeth marks. The shack's floor was aged beyond brim, with moss growing in the corners, scaling up the walls and to the roof. Elsa wandered around, and hit her shin on a wooden table. "Ow!" she screamed, rubbing her leg, when Nelson lighted a candle.

"Watch yer'self will ya?" He laughed.

With the light of the candle, the entirety of the shack was revealed. The glossy flames showered the walls like an inferno, the windows of the shack were busted, but the bits that remained intact reflected the bright light into Elsa's eyes. She turned away and saw the table that she had bumped into; directly behind it was a a decaying counter made of even more wood. Nelson was there, with a glass vase in his hands.

He looked at the girl with an awe-stricken gaze, and smiled. He placed the vase on the counter, and gestured her over with a hand. Elsa maneuvered around the table, and heard Nelson ask: "Do yer know what Ice Gillies are?"

Elsa shook her head, but uttered not a word. Her focus was on the vase. It was a plain vase, its color was a bland white, however, by some miracle, it seemed to glow from the inside a magical blue. Elsa's eyes sparkled looking at it. There wasn't any lid, and when she was about to take a peek inside, Nelson cupped the top with his hand, stopping any temptation Elsa had.

She gazed at him, and Nelson smiled warmly; and it wasn't that goofy smile either. It was a genuine smile that brought out the fullness and tenderness of his loving character. "Close yer eyes," he whispered to her.

She did. Nelson then took her hand gingerly, removing the other from the vase's top. His touch was so gentle and sweet, that Elsa found herself blushing, but Nelson didn't notice. He told her: "Reach in dere, and pull out one flower."

Elsa nodded. Her heart was racing, her eyes still closed, and she allowed Nelson to lead her hand all the way to the vase, but then felt helpless when he let go. _'Just one flower,' _she thought. Holding her breath, and with Nelson standing back to admire her, Elsa reached her hand into the vase. She felt around for a stem to grab. There were dozens of them! She wanted to open her eyes, but felt like it would ruin the moment. She took the stem of the first flower she could get an absolute feel for, and pulled it out.

Nelson was still smiling, but now his smile sprouted into fresh bliss. "Open yer eyes," he said.

She did.


End file.
